Last night la familia Pepino went to our first fish fry of the Lenten Season. We missed the first two fries because of a sickness and a late soccer practice. Both times, our pickled pal, El Calificador, attended alone as his bride was on a humanitarian shopping trip in the Bahamas, and we bailed at the last minute and without warning. I lured him and his tanned wife to the dinner last night by calling them from the fry location, Blessed Breading, and told them I was waiting for them in the shadow of the Mother Mary. They came, as did the good Pastors Lama and Obejo, and their daughter Lana. It was interesting to note that the choices of fried or baked went along political lines. We always thought it was a Michigan State, University of Michigan thing. The Pastors aren’t football fans.
The fish fries are a festive occasion, especially on St. Patty’s day. I can see how a faith endures centuries if the faithful are allowed to show piety at dinnertime, and then drink to dawn accompanied by Irish music. Go Catholicism.
The highlight of my teaching week occured Tuesday when a student exclaimed in Spanish, “!A mi me gusta Moco Loco!” (“I like Crazy Booger”). That kind of impromptu language shows real, purposeful acquisition. The low point was that most of the class and some of the staff felt it was inappropriate. I borrow a line from the Zombies classic: “Please don’t let me be misunderstood”. Carry on.
Hasta la proxima comida,