Why "El Cuco" Still Bugs Me Out

I’m going to confess that at 35 years old the mere thought of “El Cuco” still freaks me out. Demons, spirits, ghosts and ghouls do nothing for me. I can watch shows and documentaries on those topics all day and night without a worry. Of course I follow that up with some comedy just to wash the willies away, but there is almost no cure for mention of “El Cuco.” I’m guessing the Anglo equivalent would be the boogeyman. But at least the boogeyman has been somewhat defined by its name. BoogeyMAN. No one could say what “El Cuco” would look like when he came to get you. How many arms and legs? Would there be arms and legs!? What do I look out for so I know when to run! Or maybe I’ll just know. With a name like “El Cuco”, I’m guessing I’ll know alright.

As a kid “El Cuco” was a discipline technique. “Don’t do that or “El Cuco” will get you at night.” “Be nice to your sister or “El Cuco” will know and come get you.” “You better get to sleep quickly before “El Cuco” comes.” Add to that the effect of my Father bulging out his eyes every time he said “El Cuco” and terror was inescapable. Not to mention that EVERYONE seemed to know of him and all agreed about his predatory nature. My Abuela didn’t have to budge to settle a fight between my siblings. All she had to do was say “El Cuco viene si no paran de pelear.” And two wide eyed, quiet children would suddenly be looking for somewhere to sit with their backs against something so that “El Cuco” could not sneak up from behind and scare them.

I spare my kids “El Cuco” as tempting as it is sometimes to have those magic words at my disposal. I half consider it cheating and half consider it unkind, and wholly consider it unnecessary for them. So it’s one of the cultural details I will leave out for them. I’ll let them laugh at me about it later, when I’m in my 80’s, living with one of them and still need a night light.

Do your kids know about “El Cuco”?

I Stand Alone - Far From The 'Round The Way Girl

One of the running themes of my life have been “I stand alone.” There has almost always been something to set my apart from the pack. I am the tallest in my family, setting me far apart from my much shorter South American and Caribbean cousins. Aside from my milk white mother, I am the lightest and most resistant to tans as well, not only setting me apart from my family that is filled with beautiful skin tones ranging from café con leche to a rich Indian red, but from a Hispanic community that generally recognizes their own by the skin tone and features I never inherited. In my childhood Italian neighborhood, I was the lone Menudo fan in the midst of an entire population of Michael Jackson fans.

As a very proud and deeply rooted Hispanic, I don’t know that I can adequately express how frustrating it is when other Hispanics don’t recognize my ethnicity. Now, I can understand under most circumstances no one is going to pick out the tall, white girl as the girl who goes home to chuletas and platanos. But when I’m reading the Spanish paper, or at the Spanish mass and they turn to me to politely force the best English they can to communicate with me, I wish I didn’t stand alone so far. How I envied the colors and features of my cousins and even my own siblings, who tan so beautifully. How I wish I could look less like a “white girl” and more like a “’’round the way girl.”

I’d love to know, are there others out there that stand alone like me? What are your feelings and thoughts?

My Little Translator

One of the coolest things my first daughter would do was translate. I spoke to her exclusively in one language and her father in another and although she would routinely witness us communicated in English, her little, still-developing brain did not put two and two together. She would stand between us, ask her dad a question, he would answer it no more than four feet away from me, and she would turn to me and translate. “Papi, can we go to the park today?” “Sure Mama, we’ll go after lunch ok?” “Mami, Papi dijo que después del almuerzo nos podemos ir al parque.” Then I’d have act like she had just enlightened me to his message. She felt so useful and so smart. And she never proved herself wrong!

With time, you could almost see her wheels turn as she tried to decipher the relationship of these two languages. She would often ask me questions about what this word or that word was in English. And when I would tell her you could almost see her feel the word in her mouth as she mulled it in her head and rolled it around her tongue. One clear summer evening, the moon was large and beautiful. We were driving back from the mall and I pointed the moon out to her. “Mira Mama, mira la luna que bella. Es una media luna, porque no está llena.” And I saw her work that over in her mind and soon I heard her little voice say to herself “media luna… sock moon.” It was one of those priceless moments.

I’d love to hear about a priceless moment when your little one was processing the languages. Share them here today!