[ Immigration Headline ]
[ byline ]
GUADALAJARA, MX-JAL—To run away fromthe hot-headed dogs, Boys & Girls climb ontop of a tree, branch by branch. They hangfrom inside a sheet, blue like their pants.
One day the tree grows fast. All the treesgrow fast. The grass too. Understandable.Guadalajara is no normal place. Differentaccents.
Guadalajarans eat nopales. Punctual trainstations. Air-conditioned buses. Unlike thatprevious shithole.
But México is also not the place whereBoys & Girls will enroll in school, find a job,immerse in the marketplace, permanently.
Concentráte vos. Ya no hablés así maje.They tell each other.
Dogs barking below in their local guao-guao, órale, guao-guao, órale, singsong.
Boys & Girls, come on, vámos, adapt, please.
So they practice:
Con-cén-tra-te.
Ó-ra-le.
Gu-a-o—Gu-a-o.
Ó-ra-le.
They sing & repeat. Sing & repeat on top oftheir trees. Until one day, they climb down toshow off their new accents. Like kneeling inchurch. Like pledging allegiance to a sick dog.
