"Keep your pants on" and other things my mom told me when I was ten.
In fifth grade I had the pleasure of attending the same school my mother taught. I had the double pleasure of having her best friend as a teacher. During this time our president was going through a controversial scandal involving an intern. This scandal begat my mom's famous phrase:
“keeps your pants on"
I never thought it was an issue as a fifth grader but my mom would often remind my friends and I in the halls of Lakeside Elementary "keep your pants on!” she’d warn, “These white girls will ruin your life!"
Seven years later she was still warning me, “keep your pants on!” amongst other good advice. Somehow, not heeding to the warnings would cause her physical pain. This was a key component in the art of guilt perfected by my Mexican, Catholic mother.
"Why do you want to hurt your only mother like this, Josue?"
Josue is what she calls me when upset. It’s my Hispanic birth name.
"We've already taken you to Cancun, twice! Why would you want to go with your graduating class? You know those white girls will only get you in trouble! Remember what they did to my Bill [Clinton]? You’d better keep your pants on!"
Through the intervention of my dad and working extra hours at the mall, I saved enough money to join my graduating class to Cancun, Mexico for an after graduation trip. After surviving months of expected guilt-ing, I was able to go.
As it turns out, it’s not the best trip when you're the only guy in your beach cabana that doesn't drink. It’s like babysitting, I imagine, but dirtier and more hairy. Anyway the worst part turned out to be a lack of cell phone reception. After all, part of the agreement I developed with my parents was I would call home letting them know we landed safely… and call home to let them know when we got to the hotel room… and call before bed to let them know I was safe… and to call in the morning and the middle of the day to let them (my mom) know I was still safe.
After 48 hours of no cell phone reception, I bought a calling card and only got my parents answering machine. Oh, well. I had another long night of clubbing followed by babysitting peers.
It was the third morning that we woke up to banging on our cabana door. I wasn’t hung over, definitely sleep-deprived and not ready to get out of bed, but it’s never pleasant waking up in Mexico to banging on your front door. My roommates were muttering in their sleep and starting to stir while I stepped over them to answer the door.
It was my mom.
"Why haven't you called? We were worried sick!"
"TELL WHOEVER IS KNOCKING AT OUR DOOR TO GO FU-" my recently woken roommate was about to say before I stepped outside and closed the door behind me.
"Who was that? Why can't we come in? Are you ashamed of your Mother? 1 carrier you in my womb for 9 months, I almost died during birth..."
I hate Cancun and wonder why I didn't start drinking that night.
But I did remember to "keep my pants on.”
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