Posts Tagged ‘ Native American ’

Taking My Kid To Downtown Nashville For The 1st Time

Thursday, April 10th, 2014

3 years, 4 months.

Dear Jack,

I don’t want the general public to know this, but Nashville truly is one of the coolest places to live in America. Our town keeps showing up in articles as an “it place” to live.

The economy here is great, the people are diverse and friendly, there’s plenty of awesome entertainment, and the weather is…

Well, the weather is decent, yet a bit all over the place. Just two weeks ago I encountered 4 different seasons in the same hour. Literally, it snowed, then it was mild, then it was hot and sunny, then it cold fairly cold again.

Despite the fact we actually live in the Nashville city limits, only 12.2 miles from downtown, until this past Saturday, we’ve never actually taken you to Broadway, where all the “Nashvegas” action happens.

Mommy had found out about a free puppet show going on at the downtown library. She had me at “free.”

Two of your friends from school, and their parents, met us there for the excitement.

You got to witness your very first puppet show; it was a Native American tale called Sky Bear.

That actually was the first time I myself had seen a marionette-style puppet show.

Next, you and your friends made your way to the big window and saw “the Batman building” in the background.

Lucky for you, one of your friends’ parents suggested we check out the candy store on Broadway, called Savannah’s Candy Kitchen.

As you and your friends walked hand in hand, you were able to see many Nashvegas wonders… like a pink school bus, a convertible limo, and some kind of weird man-powered trolley in which over a dozen people peddled sideways to make the thing go… called Sprocket Rocket.

Yeah, because that’s apparently what’s normally going on during a typical Saturday morning at 11:23 on Broadway in Nashville.

Amidst all the exotic sights and sounds, we eventually reached our destination. I’m very familiar with the saying, “like a kid in the candy store.” Well, that was you and your friends.

You ended up with a bag full fully of jelly beans. Your friend Madison chose a giant lollipop… and it only cost $3.50.

It was quite an eventful morning. Of course, by noon, it was time for all three 3 year-olds to head home for lunch and nap.

You’re a lucky boy. You got to experience the splendor of downtown Nashville, accompanied by two of the cutest brunettes you know.

 

Love,

Daddy

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Broken Branches On The Family Tree

Wednesday, April 24th, 2013

2 years, 5 months.

Dear Jack,

Two weeks ago we visited my grandma, Lola Mendez Metallo, in the assisted living complex. She told us a story I had never been made aware of.

When her own grandmother was only 15 years old, on the way home from church, she was kidnapped by a widowed man who already had 4 children; being forced to become his wife and have children with him.

One of those children born to her was my grandma’s father.

My grandma explained that sort of thing wasn’t uncommon in Michoacán, Mexico back in those days.

It’s a dark story, and a strange part of our family tree.

I also know that your great-grandmother on Mommy’s side came to America from Ireland, as an indentured servant.

That couldn’t have been too awesome.

However, the fact that our family tree contains “broken branches” is nothing unique to our family. Climb any family tree in America, and it won’t take long to find some less than perfect situations which eventually led to modern day.

You and I also share Native American blood. I’m sure there’s an interesting story somewhere with that too. By interesting, I mean less than desirable.

It seems most old movies about the Wild West conveniently portray “the Americans” as the good guys and “the Indians” as the bad guys. (Accidental racist?)

I think about this stuff. Our family tree consists of both oppressors and victims.

While it’s easy to be removed from the reality that our ancestors had to experience because it was so long ago, if it weren’t for their hardships, we wouldn’t be here today. Their lives were just as real as ours are now.

Even just to think: Mommy was born as the 9th child of her family. How few American households in 1981 had a 9th child born?

The fact that Mommy was ever born is a rare enough situation to try to grasp.

You’re not here by accident, son. You are part of this universe for a purpose.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

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