END GAME
Originally Published the Week of Jan. 3, 2022 in Western Outdoor Publications
Back in the day when I lived close to the somewhat remote East Cape area of Baja, I loved getting invited to someone’s house for dinner. It was a special treat.
First and foremost, it sure beat the one-pan meals I would usually cook for myself. The food at these gatherings would be simple, but they were always the best-of-the-best spread they had to offer and tremendously delicious.
I remember barbecued meat or fried fresh fish. Often it was something they had caught or one of their own animals.
I was a grateful beneficiary to the sharing of the largesse.
Of course handmade tortillas, beans and rice and maybe grilled vegetables or fresh cheese! Dang. I secretly always hoped there would be that fresh farm cheese.
Plates and cups never matched. Lots of well-used plastic. The cups seemed to be those indestructible plastic/ acrylic things we all had in our cupboards back in the day. Free with a fill-up of gas (or a steak knife) or were bought from the neighbor’s kid raising money for school.
Somehow, those same cups magically migrated to Mexico!
Silverware was burnished and scratched. No big thing. Lots of paper napkins. No matter.
These folks might not have much, but everything was always spic-and-span and pridefully clean in the home.
It was not only a treat, but an honor to be invited to the family home.
Often, there might be another family or two… or extended family member at the table as well. A few cousins. A tio or tia (uncle or auntie). Maybe some neighbors.
Again, sharing the wealth.
It was typically a pot-luck kind of affair from what I could tell.
Cousin Jose and his family might bring some fresh ceviche. The neighbors ferried over a Tupperware of salsa fresca.
It seemed the uncles would ALWAYS bring beer. Always welcome and they seemed to drink the majority of it!
After dinner there was always talk.
Just fun and interesting conversation and b.s. directly dependent upon the level of beer consumption taking place.
My Spanish at that point wasn’t full-speed, but it was enough to participate and I often became the center of the chit-chat. It was usually something of an enjoyable question-and-answer session.
Parents…well, the moms asked about food and markets and clothes. Dads would talk about fishing or travel.
Politics were big. So were sports. The New York “Yonkeys” and the Los Angeles “Doyers.” Andale!
Recently, I was thinking about some of the great conversations with the kids.
The younger girls would ask about celebrities, fashion and movie stars.
Did I really see movie stars all the time and every day?
What is Hollywood like and tell them about a shopping mall.
The boys naturally wanted to know about American cars. American music. Of course…American girls.
Remember, these were the days before the internet was rampant and everyone had a cell phone. Often folks didn’t even have TV’s back then out there.
I was sort of the welcomed travelling bard. Folks were anxious to hear what was going on “out there.” Tell us some news. Tell us a story.
With the kids…
Often, we’d get into the typical, “What do you want to do when you get older?”
At the time, it was just fun conversation, but looking back, the responses were really eye-opening.
American kids talk …doctors…lawyers…executives…business owners…teachers…travel…own a ranch…own a sportscar…be a firefighter…engineer…computers…be a rockstar…attend a great university…be a pilot…marry a rich doctor…lawyer…blah blah blah!
For these, mostly rural Mexican kids, the bar wasn’t quite so high.
Most wouldn’t get past the mandatory 6th grade. So, like all kids, many were eager to “get outta school” to go to work.
Not so much to be independent like American kids…move out…have a car…get an apartment.
These Mexican kids were eager to work so they could help the family.
The aspirations weren’t so lofty.
“I will help my father catch fish for the market.”
“I will go to work at the farm picking vegetables.”
“I would like to move to the city. Maybe work at a restaurant or a hotel. Maybe clean rooms or wash dishes. I can stay with relatives.”
“I have a boyfriend and we will get married and have kids. He has a good job driving a truck for the market.”
The ambitions were much more tempered. Perhaps much more pragmatic in the big picture.
The big difference is that these are somewhat the kind of jobs American kids might do “on their way” to do something else. Like while they are in school.
Or a summer job.
Or for some pocket money.
For these Mexican kids, they are not jobs before they move onto something else. These are their CAREERS.
This is what they will most likely do for the rest of their working lives.
Forty or fifty years from now, it’s very likely, many will still be washing dishes or cleaning someone’s hotel room. Some will still be trying to catch enough fish to sell to the market and feed the family.
That fruit or vegetable farm still needs laborers.
That girl wanting to be married has raised another generation herself.
These “occupations” are the end game. There is no “glass ceiling” because there is no glass. That solid ceiling they see is the height of ambition and opportunity.
I’m trying to imagine some of the summer or school jobs I took in younger days. Could I have worked in a warehouse the rest of my life? Or driven a taxi? Or sold vacuum cleaners door-to-door?
Nothing wrong with good honest labor.
For Americans, we have the ability to envision better things. We can hope that around the corner our ship will come in. We have that ability to dream. It may never happen, but we can strive and hope.
Our end game has continuum.
For these youngsters, their aspirations are limited to immediate and restricted finite opportunities. The end game is for life.
Do not pass GO. Stay in the same square. Repeat.
That’s my story
Jonathan
That's My Story 
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