Rick Patrick
Today is another one of those holidays where we in the “States” look for any excuse to have a party. That is by no means meant to be a criticism. I have been known to look for any reason I can (sometimes no reason at all) to crash a party. So, why not have a party on Cinco de Mayo?
I have a very special place in my heart for my friends “south of the border.” In the fall of 1980, while touring with the group Up With People I had the opportunity to spend three and a half months traveling throughout the country of Mexico. In each city we visited, we stayed with host families. I can honestly say you will never find a more hospitable people than the people of Mexico. Without exception, every Mexican host family I had said to me, “Mi casa es su casa (My house is your house).” And they sincerely meant it. I remember one family I had near the end of our Mexican tour. We arrived late into the city (not unusual considering the long travel days and the fact that at least one of our buses was prone to breaking down, usually without warning). I was rooming by myself in that particular city (I have tried in vain to remember just what city it was.) which didn't bother me too much because by that time I had learned enough Spanish that I was not very nervous about being by myself. When we finally arrived at the city, I met my host brother, and we loaded up into another host family's car and began to drive out of the city. The more we drove, the more “uneasy” I got, but I managed to keep a smile on my face. Finally we stopped, seemingly in the “middle of nowhere.” My host brother and I got out of the car, and we started walking up a small path. At the other end of the pathway, I saw a flashlight coming toward me. Near a small one-floor house I saw a small woman who, even in the darkness, had the appearance of being beyond her real years. We entered the house where my “host mom” lit a candle ands led me to a bed next to the small kitchen. I remember thinking to myself, “This is rustic, but I've been in hunting camps more rustic than this. I'll be okay.” The next morning, I noticed my host brother asleep on the floor. I had been given the only bed in the house. My host mom said to me in her broken English, “I'm sorry I don't have a nice house for you to stay in.” She had wanted her son to meet someone from another country with whom he could practice his English. I was humbled by her kindness and sincere generosity. That humbling experience has stayed with me for the many years since, especially when I've needed a reminder that genuine generosity has little to do with “things” but has everything to do with the heart.
So I gladly raise a glass and salute my wonderful Mexican friends. Happy Cinco de Mayo!