Tonight my brother is coming into town with his family. Though he’s staying with his in-laws, not me, I am required by Puerto Rican law to go to the airport for a meet-and-greet.
I’m not sure how this tradition evolved. All I know is if you go to the airport when a flight from Puerto Rico is due to arrive, you will find the nuclear family as well as the extended family in tow to welcome the person arriving to town. My brother is from Florida, but this tradition still applies.
The round trip drive to the airport will be an hour and a half. The wait at the airport around thirty minutes. The meet-and-greet five minutes.
The Devil’s Playground takes place in Puerto Rico. The main character, Mija, explores the island, her family heritage, and the basis of a murder that occurred years before she was born.
A few days ago, I received a package from mami that contained a religious CD featuring my uncle and aunt (the cover on the left is of the CD. My aunt and uncle are identified in red text).
When I saw the CD cover, I cried. It was great to see members of my family holding instruments and even a greater joy listening to them sing. One of the characters in my book sings and plays guitar. That is what he is known for in el barrio.
Composing the lyrics and the music for the book has proven to be a challenge because although I play guitar, it is difficult for me to capture the essence of Puerto Rico. Perhaps the reason is because I haven’t visited PR in over ten years. It seems like a visit is long overdue.
To hear a taste of El Matutino Esta Bueno, the first track on the CD, click on the following link:
Btw, the translation for the song is either The Morning is Good or This Morning is Good. If someone can provide a better translation, please do so in the comment section.
Also, if you don’t speak Spanish please don’t let that deter you from listening. The music accompanying the lyrics are authentic to the Island, giving you a taste of another culture.
If you have a big sister, you’ve surely experienced at least one “the night the lights went out in Georgia” moment.One of the most memorable for me was when Bobbi and I were in elementary school.
I’ve always been a big talker, and back then, no one could beat me in a race. I was the fastest runner in the 4th grade and, I’d venture to guess, in all the grades combined. I had this habit of daring my peers to race me so I could prove I was the best runner the school had ever seen. Yes, I know. I had issues.
A new classmate, Herman, accepted my challenge. Throughout the day, we kept throwing one-liners at each other in an effort to psyche the other out before the big race.
“I’m going to win.”
“No, I’m going to win.”
“I’m going to beat you.”
“No, I’m going to beat you.”
The momentum was high. Lots was at stake – pride. To no one’s surprise, I won. Herman didn’t take it very well. He turned into a bully, pushing me. Though I probably could have run my way out of the situation, I didn’t. I pushed back. And so the shoving match began.
A crowd began to form.
Out of nowhere came Bobbi. Her speech was limited to what a ten-year-old could muster. “Stop hitting her! Stop hitting her!” she said as she flung her fists across Herman’s head, face, and back.
Everyone stood in silence as Herman cowardly sat in a fetal position. Visibly upset, Bobbi told the crowd, “No one messes with my sister!”
Julia Sugarbaker, you’re a good big sister but you have nothing on my big sister Bobbi.
