From my bedroom on Alamar Avenue, I can hear the brassy sounds of the Mexican bands playing in the park. They are playing in Oak Park, perhaps a 12-piece band, strong and clear and full of passion.
When I hear these sounds I think of big parties, I think of children laughing, I think of the Pinata hanging from the tree and a little blind-folded boy swinging recklessly with a big broom handle. I think of the leaves in the park and the big old, Oak trees who have been here way before the park was built and will be still standing when the people are gone.
I think of people having fun and kids running around. I think of Mexican women setting tables and Mexican men at the barbecues. I think of chicken and meat and tortillas being warmed crispy over the fire. I think of the food being passed around and everyone helping themselves and helping each other. I think of one party after another.
Mexican families always have something to celebrate and they always have the family together, close, connected and joyous. The elderly see the young boys growing up to be big and strong and the girls growing up to be fine, attractive women. The sounds are always the same. The experience always enjoyable. They leave the park with full stomachs and emotions bubbling and satisfying. They clean up, fold the chairs and the tables. They stack the coffee pots and the dishes in the boxes and place them in back of the truck. It’s clockwork, every Saturday and Sunday I hear the singing and the music. I hear their presence at my window and for a little while I experience what it is like to be a Mexican celebrating in the park.
For more, read: What We Can Learn From Mexican Parties