Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I like knowing you think about me.

I just get overwhelmed with emotion.

I just started crying because I was rereading shit and I get really sad when people call me sweet or nice. I just don’t know how to handle positive sentiments. It makes me feel really good. Being apologized to does too. Because people never seem to mean what they tell me and I could feel that this was genuine.

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#LMAO 
unoppressedactivities:

white girls are having a crisis, y’all.

my grandparents are gonna be in mexico until november and i miss them very much. i wish i was with them. they are spending a lot of time together. it’s a little strange because their marriage has always been a distant one. they don’t sleep in the same bed. hardly speak to one another. my grandmother barely looks at him in the face when she speaks to him. and he always seemed bothered when he communicated with her.

he was very machismo until this year basically. i hope they get closer with these next few months. they’ve been married for 30 some years. i want them to love another again.

Early in my freshman year, my dad asked me if there were lots of Latinos at school. I wanted to say, “Pa, I’m one of the only Latinos in most of my classes. The other brown faces I see mostly are the landscapers’. I think of you when I see them sweating in the morning sun. I remember you were a landscaper when you first came to Illinois in the 1950s. And look, Pa! Now I’m in college!”

But I didn’t.

I just said, “No, Pa. There’s a few Latinos, mostly Puerto Rican, few Mexicans. But all the landscapers are Mexican.”

My dad responded, “¡Salúdelos, m’ijo!”

So when I walked by the Mexican men landscaping each morning, I said, “Buenos días.”

Recently, I realized what my dad really meant. I remembered learning the Mexican, or Latin American, tradition of greeting people when one enters a room. In my Mexican family, my parents taught me to be “bien educado” by greeting people who were in a room already when I entered. The tradition puts the responsibility of the person who arrives to greet those already there. If I didn’t follow the rule as a kid, my parents admonished me with a back handed slap on my back and the not-so-subtle hint: “¡Saluda!”

I caught myself tapping my 8-year-old son’s back the other day when he didn’t greet one of our friends: “Adrian! ¡Saluda!”

However, many of my white colleagues over the years followed a different tradition of ignorance. “Maleducados,” ol’ school Mexican grandmothers would call them.

But this Mexican tradition is not about the greeting—it’s about the acknowledgment. Greeting people when you enter a room is about acknowledging other people’s presence and showing them that you don’t consider yourself superior to them.

When I thought back to the conversation between my dad and me in 1990, I realized that my dad was not ordering me to greet the Mexican landscapers with a “Good morning.”

Instead, my father wanted me to acknowledge them, to always acknowledge people who work with their hands like he had done as a farm worker, a landscaper, a mechanic. My father with a 3rd grade education wanted me to work with my mind but never wanted me to think myself superior because I earned a college degree and others didn’t.


written by

Ray Salazar, Mexican etiquette some white people need to learn on dad’s 77th birthday.

Saluden Muchachxs, saluden.

(via frijoliz)

(via yungmexicana)

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