I spent many weekends at a tia's house. Every night, she'd wish us love in our dreams. Hasta Mañana, she'd say. Si Diosito quiere, my sisters and I would respond. Sounds fatalistic as hell in English but oh so reassuring in Spanish.
I should probably thank a chicken for my Being Alive today. That old raw egg in a cup of water by the bedside thing works, y'all. For that, I thank you, Huevos of the World.
Pandora, Flan, Chispita, Selena, El Chavo del Ocho, Cantinflas, El Puma, Sabado Gigante, Xuxa, Vicente Fernandez, Magneto, Garibaldi, Lucero and Thalia were to me what MTV and New Kids on the Block were to my friends. The smell of cilantro takes me back to my Guelo's house and the wild cilantro he let take over his hard and the art of boiling a few sticks of canela into a simple tea is one I learned from my Guela, who passed away when I was six.
Because of my father's great love of la musica, listening to norteño is an automatic connection that makes me wish he was still here. I would love to be able to tell him about this column and hear him say "I'm proud of you, kid."