Writing Truths

I had a great evening with my sister, son, and husband. Gathered at the dinner table our conversation led us to the indigenous languages of Nahuatl, Yacutec Maya, and Purépecha. We candidly spoke about what it's like when you're American and one of your parents was born on foreign soil, what that means as far as identity and connection and how people treat you differently on both turfs even though either will go to great lengths to prove otherwise. 

We spoke of travel, education, and culture.  My son worked on his mathematics and reading homework.  We asked him if he learned about Columbus.  He said he had learned a bit about Columbus, but the teachers were sure to tell him that Columbus did not discover America.  A fact that I was proud was being taught to my fifth grader.  This could also be respective to the area in Texas where we reside.

It was a beautiful evening as we wrapped up the conversation and the laughter when we took it outside to water the matas (plants).  It reminded me of being at my grandmothers.  How each evening we'd spend long hours at her home and she'd take us outside in one sweeping gesture so that she could water her dear plants.  The conversation always turned lighthearted and carefree as she spoke about different plants and different animals that attacked her plants.  

I found myself in a pleasant déjà vu last night.  I am becoming the matriarch in small and careful steps as God wills it.  Stories continue to riddle my lips and l find it is my duty to keep these stories alive in the best way I know how, speaking and writing my truth.  

Ms. Olga

A few days ago, as we sat at the Pig Stand on Broadway having a fruitful conversation on food, life, and happenings, a sweet woman whom sat behind my fiancé slid out of her booth and turned slowly to tell me, “Never get old, mija.”

She was a sweet older woman.  She shared her Senior Times and advised me about bad knees.  She was so inviting, tired, curious and spoke in a low tone.  Stories developed on her tongue; however, she tamed them and we never heard them.  Her eyes searched us as she asked, “Are you all a couple?  A married couple or just boyfriend and girlfriend?  You two are such a beautiful couple.”  She offered a smile and a dim shine in her eyes.  I lifted my hand to show her, “We just got engaged!”  Her body melted and she motioned to hug the both of us, slowly and carefully.  “Love each other the way you do now and you will last forever.”  Kind advice from, “My name is Olga.”  We introduced ourselves in return and listened as she gently spoke about having dinner and having had three glasses of wine prior to her meal.  “I had to get a bite in me.” She neither struck me as a drunk nor a woman out to have a good time.  I wondered where she’d been.  It may not have been home.  Wherever she was headed, she didn’t seem to want to go there.  Alone. 

Photo from squar3one.blogspot.com 

We offered to pay for her dinner and her eyes welled with tears.  The gesture took her breath away.  I had to pry the ticket from her hands careful not to give her a paper cut.  She didn’t know what to say to us, but she brought her hand to her heart and managed, “Thank you.  Oh, God bless you.”  My heart momentarily sank as I realized that perhaps no one had ever done this for her or it wasn’t something she expected from the world. 

We weren’t supposed to be at the Pig Stand.  We had already had dinner elsewhere and were satisfied.  I suggested coffee because I know it leads to long conversations with my love.  We sat behind a woman that we never saw enter the restaurant or did we notice her as we sat in our booth.   I don’t know Ms. Olga’s story only that she lives in the Palo Alto neighborhood and that she was far from home at the Pig Stand on Broadway.  Daily, we encounter people with stories that are not ours and somehow manage to connect.  It is representative of who we are as a people.  There we are en las caras de los ancianos. 

Be blessed, Ms. Olga, wherever you go.     

Road Trip Convo - Delicious kolaches and what was the first human conversation anyway?

Our road trips are never dull.  Our latest road trip took us to Grapevine, Texas where my son wore himself out at the LegoLand Discovery Center and then we ventured off to Weatherford, Texas where we visited with Erasmo’s family by the great countryside.  On our way up the I-35 corridor we stopped for some fluffy kolaches at the Czech Stop in West, Texas.  My son and I had never had these and although we had just finished our tacos, we ate them anyway.  They were well worth the food coma. 

Some miles up the road the DJ, on talk radio, posed a question that had us talking for the next few hours.  What was the first conversation that took place between man?  We threw out some guesses:  food and procreation.  Who wouldn’t answer food with all the tacos and kolaches we had just eaten?  The answer the DJ gave was tools.  We were surprised, but kept on guessing as that did not satisfy our craving on what two men could possibly have to say to each other.  We placed ourselves in another time period altogether.  Yes, this was tough as we accelerated in our car toward another city, but mentally we were in another time.  What could two men possibly have to say to each other?  Imagine that you are the only human man around for miles and suddenly you see another you with the same stuff growing out of his face, with the same stuff growing out of his body (ahem), with the same body structure as you.  What would you, in that moment, have to say to the other you?

Perhaps the first conversation had by man was also a question and is the same conversation we keep having with ourselves.  Where did you come from?  It is such a plaguing question that never seems to be neatly answered.  When we do answer this question for ourselves, be it because we believe in an ultimate creator or because we draw the line at “does it matter,” we never stop asking this question no matter how secure we are in our faith or in our absence of it. 

We continued our discussion by posing another question.  We like to think that the first human encounter was between two men; although, it is very possible that the first conversation was had between two women.  Was the first conversation between two women the same one that the men had with each other or was it a conversation about emulating behavior or teaching?  Was the first conversation about their children or was it an instruction:  Teach me. 

I’d love to hear from you.  What do you think the first conversation between men (or women) was? Note that the question is not, what was the first conversation between man and woman nor is the question, what was the first conversation between man and God.  We know that one.

A model of the face of an adult female Homo erectus, one of the first truly human ancestors of modern man, on display in the Hall of Human Origins in the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History in Washington, D.C.  Reconstruction by John Gurche; photographed by Tim Evanson. Wikimedia Commons

  

The Science Recorder article

Humanity's First Conversation May Have Been About Building Tools

NBC News

Humanity's First Talks May Have Been About Tools, Scientists Say

Nature Communications
Experimental Evidence for the Co-Evolution of Hominin Tool-Making Teaching and Language