A (Patrilineal) Chorus Line

At the reading I gave last Thursday, I read a short piece on how people on my mother’s side of the family can’t sing.

My father on the other hand, had a wonderful singing voice, and my mom boasted of this despite my father’s permanent absence from all Colombian vacations. Vernally fatherless, I had to represent my kind, the blood that was not Rueda, the blood that was not my mother’s, the blood that could sing. My voice was okay––not terrible like my mom’s, not commanding and powerful like my father’s, but somewhere in between.

Anyway, I arrived in parent’s house last night (I’m here for the Thanksgiving week, expect a decent amount of blogging!) to find my father’s sister and her husband visiting. My father just busted out the guitar and everyone’s singing. I’m sitting here on the laptop far away and even my mother, who doesn’t sing, is singing (terribly).

It’s weird.

I’m “working” in the other room (sort of, kind of) and I hear three harmonizing voices (plus my mother’s not-harmonizing voice) working through a repertoire of Mexican ballads.

“Borrachita, me voy!” Little drunk girl, I’m leaving.

The sentimentality oozes in South Texas.