Little Pumpkin

This last weekend, I attended a friend’s wedding. It was outdoors on a beautiful fall day and they took advantage of the season by using a harvest/Nightmare Before Christmas theme. Needless to say, there were pumpkins everywhere. We chose a random table and, when a friend and groomsman joined us later, we began talking about this perfect little pumpkin that was our table’s décor. He told me that this particular little pumpkin was the bride’s favorite. In fact, she liked it so much that he was surprised it actually made its intended role as a harvest centerpiece. We then decided the best plan of action would be to steal it in order to present it to the bride upon her return. Then, the groomsman left.

I took up the mantle and snuck the pumpkin into my purse; but once I got home, this little gourd began to take on a life of her own. She began acting strangely… and this is the story I sent to the groomsmen.

Once upon a time, there was a pumpkin…

 When she arrived to her foster home, she met a handsome fellow gourd, Spotty.

 One night, I found Princess looking more lovely than usual. 

Lo and behold, a few days later...

 I think there's been some pumpkin bumpin' goin' on. Spotty was looking a little frisky on Sunday.

 Today, Princess heard of the upcoming holiday and thought she would get into the Halloween spirit.

 I applauded her efforts, but told her about her true purpose: to bring a smile to a newlywed couple. 

I think she may have gotten the wrong impression.

The newlyweds are still on their honeymoon, but the bride will, in fact, receive her little “Princess” upon her return. And they’ll live happily ever after.

The Birds & the Bees

I am one of the lucky people who has known her best friend since she was five years old. I won’t tell you how many years exactly we’ve been friends, but it’s been a while. Let’s leave it at that. And nine years ago, that friend had a baby, Callan. I was not (and still am not) a big fan of children, but I’ve made an exception for this one and have donned the title of “Auntie.” But this post is not about long friendships or overcoming fears… it’s about double entendres.

Like many people who are around children, my friend Christy and I speak in several different languages – some literally different, like Spanish, and others simply more complex versions of our own – to try to evade the increasingly intelligent little ears of her son. This has become increasingly difficult (as he’s a smart little bugger) over the years, but still we persist. And, like so many people who have been friends as long as we have, sometimes we find stupid and sometimes dirty things quite humorous. Hence, the problem.

Callan recently started taekwando lessons with a man called Master Johnson. The mature adults that we are, we could barely refrain from snickering when he introduced himself. Callan, of course, didn’t know any better. Our little inside joke lasted for several weeks and we were, of course, very polite and understanding around the Master himself. (It’s certainly not his fault and he’s a very nice man – not deserving of any kind of teasing.) But one day, one thing lead to another and Christy began speaking in Spanish to me about a friend’s sexual exploits. We giggled (again, we’re soooo very mature) and Callan became increasingly agitated by our code.

We eventually distracted him, but somehow the subject turned to Hooters and how kids at Callan’s school were allowed to wear Hooters T-shirts. Then, I opened my yap and said, “Yeah, it’s just like those Big Johnson shirts guys used to wear when we were in school.” Oops. Our sweet little nine year old didn’t understand that double entendres and, of course, wanted an explanation. Now, mind you, his mother had skirted around her early discussion of sexual exploits with the classic “It’s not appropriate for you,” but here she piped up and said, “You had to open your mouth. Explain it, Auntie!” Now, I have to note that Callan has already experienced “the talk” and he and Christy are quite open about these things, but Auntie has not been a part of these conversations. And Auntie has no children to whom “the talk” must be given. So, Auntie was a little awkward… and a little embarrassed… but I think I did all right. No tears shed and only a modicum of blushing and giggles. Now, we just have to hope that Callan never makes the connection between Auntie’s “Big Johnson” speech and poor Master Johnson at taekwando.

Meet Gabriel

Once in a while, you meet a person who really inspires you. Someone who has done amazing things and has lived what one might call a life less ordinary. This week, I met one of these people. His name is Gabriel.

On Monday, Gabriel came into our Writing Center for some help revising a memoir he was writing for a Chicano Lit class. I didn’t think much of it and sat down to read his draft. The story felt like a partially completed puzzle – you could tell the picture would be amazingly beautiful, but there were gaps and pieces still missing. I began to ask him questions to help him learn to develop the paragraphs and connect the ideas, but I ended up learning just as much as he did. Instead of having a tutorial session, our interaction turned to a series of vignettes about his life – from losing pride in his Mexican heritage because of his drunken father’s escapades, to the history of French schools in Mexico, to Romance languages and psychology. This sweet, nondescript little man had escaped his dysfunctional family in Mexico by following an educational path all the way to Paris, France. The more we spoke and explored his memoir, the more amazing stories poured from his mouth. I knew I was supposed to focus on his essay, but I couldn’t shut my yap. I had to keep asking questions and every time I did, he would wave his hand and lay it on my arm, look me in the eye, and share a piece of his history with me. We spent only 30 minutes together, but I felt refreshed for the entire day.

Today, I returned to the Writing Center, hoping to find Gabriel waiting for me. I learned from another tutor that he had just left. That tutor had recently worked with Gabriel, too, and we began sharing the pieces of his story and about our interactions together. Then another tutor joined our conversation and we were all amazed by how much Gabriel had inspired us this week. Although he had come into the Writing Center looking for our help, Gabriel gave so much to everyone who worked with him. I learned on Monday that he is an aspiring writer and he hopes to write and publish his memoir. I wish him all the luck in the world and hope that we are among many who get to hear his amazing story.