Two Conversations with Elena

1.

Riding by Alamo Heights High School with Elena on Tuesday, I noticed a series of yard signs announcing the upcoming performance of "Fiddler on The Roof."

"I want to take you to see that," I said.

"What?  Just somebody standing up on the roof playing a fiddle?"

I explained the theme of the play and decided to give her a sample of one of the songs, "Sunrise, Sunset...."

My voice was croaky and I felt tears clogging my throat when I got to the phrase: When did you grow to be a beauty?  When did you grow to be so tall?  Wasn't it yesterday that...."  And I couldn't sing anymore.

"Are you crying, Yenna?" she asked from the backseat.

"Yes, a little bit," I said.  "That song always makes me kind of sad.  Aunt Day, too--she won't let anyone sing that song around her."

"Just because of sunrise and sunset you cry?"

I couldn't tell her more.  I didn't want to bore her with how fast the days turn into years, the years into decades--because after all, even though she's already a beauty in her grandmother's adoring eyes, that Tuesday was a future yesterday and she's still small.

2.

When we got to Bee's--one of our favorite Mexican restaurants, there was a case filled with pastries.  Pretty to look at, but not tempting.

"I don't care for Mexican pastries," I said.

She got a look on her face that reminded me precisely of the look her seventeen-year-old cousin Jackson used to have on his face when the inner wheels were spinning.

"I don't think you should tell me that," she finally said.  "Because I think I'm a little bit Mexican."

There you go, Yenna, being culturally insensitive! I thought to myself smiling at a girl who's starting to understand the threads of who she is and doesn't want any part of her identity dis-respected, even the sweets she might eat at Papi's house.

"But I'll get you one if you like," I added, hoping to erase my unintentional faux pas.

"No," she said.  "I don't like them either."