Born with Three Strikes
Being born Mexican and baptized Catholic is like starting life with two extra strikes against you. The first strike is that whole original sin business which, like my baptism, I wasn't even around while it was going on. Regardless, we're raised feeling guilty and the only solution is a minimum of an hour a week and 10% of our income. That's not even the worst part.
When you're raised "the Mexican way" - at least when you're raised right as my mom defines it - there's a lot of expectations to fulfill. While attending elementary school, it was too easy to wear clean jeans and a shirt. I had to wear khakis, polo shirts and Cole Haan shoes. Not just polo-style shirts. Full Polo, Ralph Lauren with the little horse and rider on the chest. I was probably the only elementary school student that knew what Ralph Lauren, Cole Haan and Tommy Hilfiger meant. What does this have to do with being Mexican?
As I was raised to believe, Mexicans have to work twice as hard to get half as far as other ethnic groups. Therefore we had to dress up twice as nice and then get yelled at for playing in the sand box at recess while wearing Cole Haans. Strike two.
Catholicism is no picnic. It's a lot of work looking like a decent Catholic. We have to take classes and go to school on Sunday then memorize prayers and get sponsors. My recent experience of marrying outside the church is a testament to the workload. There's classes to attend and teach your spouse to feel bad about everything they do or say - Catholic guilt - and legal documents promising your first born. I'm not exaggerating that one. You have to promise your first born to Catholicism. How guilty do you think I'd feel if I had my fingers crossed when agreeing to that stipulation? Strike three.
I'm out. Never liked baseball anyway.
