On Being Cuban...

My cousin sent this to me today. It’s certainly a comical way to end an otherwise stressful week.

Enjoy!

I grew up in a household…

• where coffee, milk and sugar were part of a balanced breakfast.
• where my ADD and ADHA were treated with en cuanto te coja te voy a partir la cabeza instead of Ritalin.
• where all it took was just *ONE* look.
• where we loved white rice and fried eggs.
• where lentil soup was considered comida de presos.
• where Spanish was my primary language.
• where Spanish was my *only* language.
• where I had to go to school open house to translate for my parents.
• where music or TV were never played on Good Friday.
• where we ate bacalao on Good Friday because all other fish were too expensive.
• where we at lechon at Noche Buena, New Year's Eve, birthday parties, and every other social function.
• where malanga and manzanilla were the remedies to end all remedies.
• where I was not allowed to sleep over at anybody's house, but they could all come over to our house.
• where the carpool was el ride, the lunchman was el carrito, and the lunchbox was la lonchera.
• where la carne came from la carniceria.
• where meat and potatoes was literally carne con papas. And it was served over rice.
• where oxtail stew had the colorful name of rabo encendido or translated - fiery tail.
• where people were either blanco, negro, indio o chino.
• where los perros was te dog track, las maquinitas were slot machines, and el juego was anything related to gambling.

I grew up in a household run by Cubans.

I survived in a household run by Cubans.

Happy Friday to all, and especially to my mom and all the other Caridades - Feliz dia de la Caridad!