Invitado Especial de Esta Noche

The summer following my junior year of college, I spent three months taking extensive Spanish language classes in Guadalajara, Mexico. My place of residence for those three months was in the home of the Lopez family ... Guillermo and Carmen, and their son Miguel. From the moment I arrived, they treated me as if I were one of their own. They were kind, compassionate, loving and giving people, and they welcomed me ... a total stranger to them ... and they welcomed me into their home and treated me like family. That summer I learned something far more important than Spanish, friends. That summer I learned that it's not age or gender or language or skin color or sexuality or faith that divides us ... that summer I learned that the only thing that separates us is our hearts.

Unless you live under a rock on another planet, you know that there's a great division in our country ... a greater division than I think I've seen in my lifetime. It's easy to lose hope and to spend our time living in fear of what tomorrow may bring or focusing on what we can't do rather than what we can. But ... but ... but ... we mustn't give up ... we must stand with the young men and women who are the future not only of our country, but of the entire world. They are the ones who bring me and countless others the hope of a brighter tomorrow ... they are the ones who are stepping up to fight against injustice ... to say no to discrimination and racism ... to speak out for the victims of sexual abuse. They are the ones who won't give up until real and lasting change comes ... they are the ones who aren't afraid to say enough is enough ... they are the ones who make me proud to be an American.

Tonight's post was written by a young man who is a copywriter for the company where I work. He told me I could print his name ... because he's not afraid to say enough is enough ... because he will not give up until real and lasting change comes ... because he's one of the ones who make me and so many others proud to call ourselves Americans. Thank you, Matt, for speaking from your heart ... thank you so very much, my friend ... so very much.

EL ALFABETO

     by Matt Stacks

  

You’ll start learning the Spanish alphabet in 7th grade.

ah. bay. say. chay. day. ay. f-ay. hota. ka. l-ay. m-ay. n-ay. n-yay. oh. pay. cuh. air-ay. airrrrrrrrr-ay. ess-ay. tay. oooooh. vay. dough-blah-vay. eh-keys. e-gree-ay-gah. say-ta.

Then you move onto colors.

ah-zool. ver-day. ah-ma-ree-o. a-na-ran-ha-do.

And vocabulary words.

guy-yee-nahs lay way-vos.

I pack my muh-lay-tahs and arrive at the air-o-pwer-toe.

So you learn a list of words. And then another list. And one more. Then conjugations of words. All of this standard info. But when you’re armed with these words, they open up new worlds.

You’re now in high school, and you think you’re pretty cool because you can politely ask for extra cheese at Chipotle. Yo quisiera un poco más queso, por favor. You like the empowerment.

But you’re white. Really white. Like can’t-shower-after-a-sunburn-for-three-whole-days white. And you have no one to talk to in Spanish.

So you look for opportunities to speak to any native speakers you can find. You start listening more. You learn about struggles your Cuban-American Spanish teacher had to endure to come to America. He moved here when he was little. Too little. He’s a weathered man now. How he longs to go back to his país natal.

You’ll spend two weeks as a senior teaching two brothers from Durango, Mexico, how to speak English at Sacred Heart Elementary. You’ll see their carefree smiles. You’ll see them full of life. And, at recess, they’ll give you an education in fútbol.

Then you’ll go to college. And you’ll study more Spanish. You’ll read novellas and you’ll watch películas. You’ll learn about women’s literature of Spain in the sixteenth century. You’ll discuss the sacred pilgrimage route, El Camino de Santiago, that passes through the heart of Spain.

Then you’ll volunteer at a place called El Centro. You’ll see people in KCK come for help. You’ll interact with illegal immigrants. You’ll discover that these people have many of the same hopes and dreams as you. You’ll learn that the road to becoming a citizen of the United States is arduous. You’ll be surprised to find out that these illegal immigrants pay their taxes by April 18, just like the majority of us. You’ll look them in their ojos. And you’ll see another human standing in front of you.

They’ll have come from all over—Mexico, Argentina, Venezuela, the Dominican Republic, Colombia. They’ll tell you they have family back home. That they want to all be together. That it’s just too difficult to come here legally. So you’ll ask yourself why you got so lucky. Why random, pure luck birthed you as a white American male, and them not. You’ll wonder what separates you. The answer? Nada mucho.

You’ll donate to El Centro to help these people help themselves. You know you can do more. You can always do more.

And then a president will take power. He will assume all Latinos are Mexican. He’s going to build un gran muralla to separate the United States and Mexico, he tells us. He’ll say they are bad hombres. His Spanish is not better than yours. He will call them all rapists and murderers.

He is wrong.

The Latinos you know are twin brothers from Durango, dancing wildly because they learned that zapatos are also called “choos.” A Mexican-American professor whose daughter graduates from Harvard. A Cuban-American high school teacher who laughs at ill-conceived jokes by 17-year-olds. A Guatemalan who lives across the hall in your freshman dorm and who crushes you every time you play Ping-Pong.

So you’ll fight for those who come here to make a better life. Who are as human as you. Who live out the virtues of America more than many Americans. And you’ll wonder if it’ll get better. It will. You’ll close your eyes and see how your life has been changed and enriched because of that extra alphabet you learned. And you’ll wonder, “Can we all overcome this bigot in the White House?”

Si se puede. En juntos.