The New Mexican cholo, the burqueno that struggles with some romantic version of a warrior like street mentality rooted in love filled village heritage. The hardship of being loved by a grandmother unconditionally while being tangled up in a mother's love, always being a reminder of a father gone or invisible. Burque, slang for Albuquerque, New Mexico, a city misspelled and mispronounced, because the gringo couldn't say Albur-quer-que. We sit sharing heartfelt consciousness like the men in our lives might have never been given an opportunity to do. We sit using words that were rarely used so freely in our barrios like care, love, and worry. I have been waiting to meet this man in the mirror.
I use the cliche"man in the mirror" because the boy in a man's body sharing his new found manhood is sitting in front of me squeezing his testimony out like I feel I once did. Desperate to feel normal, because this thoughtful condition is unfamiliar. I say this about the courageous man growing a friendship in front of me. On a night unexpectedly reserved for shooting the shit, has now formed connection, and built commonality that leads to more transcendence from a dogmatic Latin rebellion. Two young men with like-minded barrio beliefs, sitting as maturing fathers, reflecting on how their lives had to be so challenging, and now have the wherewithal to provide a love to their children that is finally resembling the love we needed.
He is sharing his clarity for his recently used vulnerability. The vulnerability untrusted in a city known for gobbling up weak attitudes. Jonny Tapia didn't become a warrior by accident in these barrios. This once insecure graffiti artist, shares his developing depth for understanding love in a way so powerful he can only describe it as being pierced by Jesus Christ. I am able to share in the birth of a sophisticated brown mind, unknowing of his own capability. Possibly, always the boy told to shape up, stop breaking the rules, and behave. He found the pathway to his worth. He found principles, rooted in humanity for ages, in the desires a dad worries about for his son, and a consuming fear only having a daughter can create. He talks about passion as if it is a virtue, coming from a heritage where passion is often perverted.
In early December, the wonder about past Christmases and bountiful bonuses gone, because Counselors don't get return on investments like other caregivers. And I got a Christmas bonus. And this camarada wasn't even a client. This is a Christmas bonus, the capital gains that my Chicano heritage promised me, for growing into an elder. A direct deposit routed into the heart's registry, where my karma keeps a double entry system. I like to believe another angel is invited to serve.
