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    Mestizo: A Memoir
    Mestizo: A Memoir
    Mestizo: A Memoir
    Ebook63 pages1 hour

    Mestizo: A Memoir

    By Louie Rodriguez

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Louie Rodriguez recalls growing up as a Mexican American in southwest Texas in the 1950s and 1960s in this coming-of-age story that highlights the key figures who shaped his life.

    He grew up in a poor neighborhood with his grandparents, who he called Mom and Dad. His father was a go-getter by trade, working on anything he could. During his younger days, he labored under the burning sun laying out tracks on a railroad.

    His mother ran the family’s little store while his father set tile for the houses of white people. He was good at his trade, which is why he was always employed.

    When the author dropped out of high school after his freshman year, his mom was disappointed. But the day after he told her, she woke him up and said, “It’s time to start looking for a job.”

    Like the thousands of poor people who migrated to the United States from Mexico looking for better lives, the Rodriguez family was poor. Find out how they overcame discrimination, worked hard, and moved forward in Mestizo.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriUniverse
    Release dateApr 23, 2019
    ISBN9781532069116
    Mestizo: A Memoir
    Author

    Louie Rodriguez

    Louie Rodriguez was born and raised in Texas. He is a mild-mannered, calm, peaceful man who enjoys writing, painting, and the arts. He has three children, nine grandchildren, and one great-grandchild who he enjoys babysitting.

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      Book preview

      Mestizo - Louie Rodriguez

      Mestizo

      A Memoir

      LOUIE RODRIGUEZ

      36737.png

      MESTIZO

      A MEMOIR

      Copyright © 2019 Louie Rodriguez.

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

      iUniverse

      1663 Liberty Drive

      Bloomington, IN 47403

      www.iuniverse.com

      1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

      Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

      Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

      Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

      ISBN: 978-1-5320-6910-9 (sc)

      ISBN: 978-1-5320-6911-6 (e)

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2019902840

      iUniverse rev. date: 04/19/2019

      36759.png

      Growing Up in Southwest Texas

      I remember how beautiful the days of 1944 were. Those days were peaceful, and everyone seemed happy. Even the desert in southwest Texas was beautiful. The skies were vast and clear. The evening sky would look purple at times. There weren’t very many trees around, but the ones that existed were very large and commanded attention, especially during the summer, when they were full of leaves. Even though they all looked the same, they were organized in fashion and seemed to stand tall, patrolling the neighborhoods.

      The homes were poor. Walls were made from rock, cement, and wood. Even though most homes had electricity and sanitation services, many did not. Most homes didn’t have enough furniture to fill them, and there was scarce food and clothing for all. Farther out, you could see mountains and hills. If you were to stand on top of one, you could see the poor border town of Mexico: barren, smoggy, and brown. Houses so poor they were made from cardboard stands.

      In the winter, you could smell the fires coming across the border—fires from wood, paper, and even toxic automobile tires being made by the poor peasants in an effort to keep warm. The people of Texas called my run-down neighborhood Segundo Barrio (Second Ward), or, more commonly, Little Mexico. I would think even though we didn’t have a lot, we were blessed to have a home, food, and a neighborhood store run by my mother. It was cramped and rickety inside the neighborhood store. An enormous brown fan stood attached to a white wall. A few aisles of yellow shelves proudly supported canned veggies and potted meats. Toward the back of the store, I remember a large icebox with all kinds of meats, steaks, weenies, and chorizos of various sizes. My mother, a frail lady of one hundred pounds, stood behind the counter as strong and independent as ever.

      Although my mother was poorly educated, she had an amazing amount of wisdom and kindness. For instance, she would often give store credit to poor families who could not afford food, and she dispensed advice when needed. Many poor families would not have enough money to pay her back. However, being the amazing woman she was, she would never complain and forgave the debts. I now wonder how we got through at times. I always thought that what she lacked in weight, she made up for in brains and kindness. Her large smile and piercing dark eyes will always be etched in my heart.

      My father was a go-getter by trade. He worked on anything he could. During his younger days, he worked under the burning sun laying out tracks on a railroad. To me, he seemed to look a lot like Popeye because he was thin but had large, bulky, muscular arms. He was extremely quiet and reserved compared to my mother.

      While my mother ran our little store, my father worked setting tile for the houses of white people. He was good at his trade, which was why he was always employed.

      My parents came from a small town in Mexico. Like the thousands of poor people who migrated to the United States from Mexico looking for better lives, they also came from very poor families. The Mexican government was so cruel to its people. They never fed the poor, starving, and uneducated Mexicans. They thrived on neglecting the families of emaciated children.

      No type of government assistance exists in Mexico. Small children died from malnutrition, and mothers did too. To this day, many Mexican government officials thrive on corruption. Mexico is a third world country, and my parents desperately tried to escape the harsh cruelties associated with it. I was blessed to be born in the United States, and I remember the horror stories told by my elders.

      When young, I was content with my life. I lived a life of no luxuries but extreme happiness. Ironically, taking baths was the only thing I hated. Once a week, my mother would fill a giant tin

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