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learned to make bologna con<br />
chile from my grandfather. He<br />
usually made it on Sunday mornings<br />
with aunt Tilde’s help. He<br />
would pick fresh chile Petin from<br />
his backyard. Then, he would get<br />
the molcajete (mortar and pestle)<br />
and crush the chile. He would<br />
say, ¡Está picoso! ‘It’s very hot!’”<br />
Warmly, she smiles.<br />
I wonder if there’s chile in the<br />
backyard. I hope the birds haven’t<br />
gobbled it all. Before my preteen<br />
walks away, I ask, “Why don’t you<br />
mix the ingredients for the flour<br />
tortillas before you leave the<br />
kitchen?”<br />
She replies teasingly, “I knew<br />
you would ask me to help. Okay.”<br />
Around the late 1980s, I was a<br />
freshman in college. I asked my<br />
grandfather if I could interview<br />
him for a History 605-A assignment.<br />
He replied, “Sí, como no. Pues,<br />
haber si puedo recordarme.<br />
Ayúdame Tilde. ‘Yes of course.<br />
Well, let me see if I can remember.<br />
Help me with this, Tilde.’” At<br />
times, he had trouble recalling<br />
names and dates, but my aunt<br />
Tilde sat by his side through<br />
every session to prompt him. I do<br />
not recall how many sessions we<br />
had since he had to think back<br />
so many years. There was a look<br />
about him when he recalled his<br />
home, and as he looked out in<br />
the distance, his eyes revealed<br />
joy as he told his story.<br />
I have a copy of this interview;<br />
it’s in the safe! My heart is racing<br />
as I search for it; I find the essay<br />
filed away with other important<br />
documents. The pages have now<br />
turned yellow. The title page<br />
reads “Francisco and Catalina<br />
Perez” dated April 27, 1987. I am<br />
anxious to read the essay after<br />
nearly twenty-years, but before I<br />
start reading, I must stop to chop<br />
the onions for the bologna con<br />
chile.<br />
After chopping the onions, I<br />
return to the essay and search<br />
for connections to language,<br />
culture, and racism. My effort<br />
is to no avail, but this does not<br />
surprise me since my grandfather<br />
never expressed much or complained.<br />
The essay however did<br />
disclose that his father’s name<br />
was Cayetano Perez, a coal miner,<br />
and his mother’s name was<br />
Dionicia Ramos, a homemaker<br />
(Alonzo 1). I remember my<br />
grandfather explaining: when<br />
he was growing up in Mexico<br />
he received a third grade education<br />
and sold fruits, vegetables,<br />
bread, and candy before and<br />
after school to assist the family<br />
130 WINDWARD REVIEW | Vol. 18
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