So yesterday morning around 8:30 I am sitting in our postage-stamp sized kitchen drinking my morning tea and Alex walks in. I've already put Andrew on the school bus and Alex is home this week for his winter break. Mind-you, it is only
8:30 and Alex is already up and dressed and ready to go. We had plans to meet friends (the McGees) at 10. It was unusual for him to be up so early because these days he loves to sleep in.
"Mom, I think I know why the McGees went to Notre Dame," he says.
"Oh, why?" I replied. I didn't know he had been wondering why. The McGees are some of our new friends here in London. And of course, they are Notre Dame alumni.
Which doesn't bode well in this Boilermaker house.
And maybe that is the confusing part. Can they still be our friends and yet still be a Big 10 rival? Can we really have as much fun as we do with them, even though their mascot is that tiny green man? Who knows........
Anyhow, he replied, "Because Mr. McGee is Irish."
"Yes, that is definitely true," I said.
He then walked out of the kitchen, back to his room. I thought it was the end of the conversation, but he returned a few minutes later.
"And Mom, I am Greek, right?"
"Yes, partly. But also alot of other as well." I responded.
"Oh yeah, like Irish and German," he added.
"Yep." I said.
He left again.
He returned a few minutes later. AGAIN. "Hey Mom, am I part Mexican as well?"
Shhhhh. Did you hear that? (big pause)
It's my Gramper Ed rollin' over in his grave.
Shhhhh. Did you hear
that?
It's all my relatives down in South Texas (& East Texas too) laughing their rear-ends off.
Oh-mi-gawd. What have I done to deserve this one? I mean
really. I was tickled at the question. But then it dawned on me........of course, it was because of
this. (click on it!)
It is called a "GaGa HoHo". (AKA Imperial Grandmother) Now, I do believe I can look at this several different ways. (1) I can believe that he has been raised in such a politically correct house that he really sees no difference in all of us, or (2) He really feels there has got to be some deeper reason for our emphasis on all things Tex-Mex. (3) Or maybe reasoning for our recent interest in going to Spain where, of course, they speak "mexican". And yes now maybe I am payin' the price for the forced Spanish lessons back in Richmond.
My response, "No, Alex. There is no part of you that is Mexican." (well so-far-as we know) "Why would you think that?"
"Well ya know.....................'cause of GaGa HoHo and everything," he said so assuredly.
BINGO.
Now for those of you who have never met the Imperial Grandmother, I would not exactly say she exudes all things Mexican. Honestly, she can certainly carry on a conversation (or two) with them and every once in awhile it shows up in her wardrobe AND, okay maybe, she considers Nachos part of the four food groups but for the most part SHE IS AS WHITE AS THEY COME.
And I can say that.
Because I live in London.
With every possible ethnic represented being that exists. Thank-you-very-much.
"Yes, I know............. GaGa HoHo. It would seem like that, wouldn't it?" "But no. None of us are mexican," I said.
"Oh. Okay," he said in his not-so-disappointed voice.
And walked back to his room.