Poster child for bullfights and how white can I be?
Aug 6-11, 2017
Poster child for bullfights
They say we can't choose our family. Dad says he did, but that's a whole other story! I am a Pizarro. There is nothing I can do about that. I am also an Allison and that's a whole other story too! I am Allison Pizarro I. We are not sure if there will be a II. Dad and mom are gettin' on in years!
So you may be wondering what is this all about names etc. I'll provide some context. Mom has been bringing dad to Mexico for years. Mom is Mexican and dad is Canadian. The better thirds of NAFTA. Every time they come, mom wants to take dad to see her cousin fight. Her cousin is a bullfighter and yes, a Pizarro. Dad's never been sure that he wants to go to a bullfight. Dad certainly wants to meet the cousin, but at a bullfight? He's just not too sure about that.
Turns out on his way back from the local bodega, he sees a poster on a pole and there it is, my mom's cousin, Matador de Toros ... Federico Pizarro. He is fighting in a town called Teziutlan. Dad figures since the poster is up on the local highway, that Teziutlan can't be far away. He tells mom about it and they investigate the possibilities for getting there. Then a couple of days later, we are visiting my abuelos (grandparents) and my dad asks if they would like to go to a bullfight. My abuelo (grandfather) is a big fan of bullfighting. They have an SUV. It is agreed that we will all go to the bullfight.
We get to the bullfight. Mom is very excited. She has not seen her cousin for many years. She has memories of him fighting 20 years ago. He was handsome, daring, talented and in his day a star. Today he is mom's age, has more grey hair than dad but is a lot more fit. He still has a flashiness in the ring and there are many who come to see him out of loyalty for the years of excitement he brought them in the bullring.
Today is not his day though. He is unable to finish the bull off. In fact, the sword goes in and falls out. The crowd grows restless. They don't want the bull to suffer. The same thing happens during his second appearance. There is booing. Mom tries to cover up the days performance with memories of earlier ones.
While my uncle (that's what mom's cousin is called in relationship to me) is having a disastrous day on the field, dad decides to take me from mom. He often does that. It gives her a break. He decides to walk around the stadium with me. We have hardly begun our walk when it happens. The people in the stands start cheering "el nino". That would be me. I am not a bullfighter. I am just a baby attending a bullfight. And this, I am told is what made them happy. There is a movement trying to prevent children from attending bullfights. Dad waved to them. They cheered and I continued to drool all over dad's shirt.
The next week my uncle got four ears and a tail. High honours in bullfighting and certainly more cheers than me.
How white can I be?
Everyone remarks at how white I am. When I was born, I was as red as a beet. Now I am as white as a ghost. Mom wants to start calling me Casper. Dad uses me to illustrate to anyone who will listen, that it is possible to be whiter than him.
But I must really be white, cause the other day we were registering dad for swimming lessons when this young girl came up to the stroller; looked down at me then up at her mother and declared, "está super mega blanquisimo!" (he's super mega extremely white!). She then went on to declare that I was just as white as my dad. Dad pointed out to her that I did not have his grey hair.
