Mexikid Stories

A poignant, hilarious, and unforgettable graphic memoir about a Mexican-American boy’s family and their adventure-filled road trip to bring their abuelito back from Mexico to live with them.

Newbery Honor Book 

Pura Belpré Author Award

Pura Belpré Illustrator Award

Odyssey Honor Audiobook

The Reviews are in!

“We are living in a golden age of graphic novels and memoirs, and “Mexikid” is one of the best I’ve ever read. There are genuine laugh-out-loud moments throughout, but there’s an equal amount of poignancy.” —Matt de la Peña, New York Times

★ “Equal parts hilarious and tear-jerking moments abound, rendered in a cartoon style with vibrant color palettes that shift depending on the sequence tone. This artistically inventive read, which teems with lively characters and emotion, is a joy to behold.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review

★ “Full of humor, heart, and a decent amount of gross-out moments, Martín’s coming-of-age memoir hits all the right notes. Though the family’s travels took place decades ago, the struggles with establishing identity, especially as a child of immigrants whose identity straddles two cultures, feel as current as ever. The vibrant, action-packed panels offer plentiful details for readers to pore over, from scenes of crowded family chaos to the sights of Mexico. A retro yet timeless story of family and identity.” —Kirkus, starred review

★ “[H]umourous and heartfelt…Martín captures each family member’s quirks…to bring their distinct personalities to life. Panels smoothly transition to splash pages with added visual guides and gags to create dynamic flow…Deep familial bonds, a lovingly chaotic household, and a heartfelt exploration- of culture and identity underpin this very memorable debut.” – Horn Book, starred review

★ “Perfectly blending hilariously brazen kid confidence with a poignant multigenerational story of growth and change, Martín’s graphic memoir explores his childhood in a big “somewhat American” and “somewhat Mexican” family, centered on a road trip to Mexico to bring their abuelito from Jalisco to their house in America. The seventh of nine children, Pedro (American-style name: Peter) is mostly oblivious to the serious conversations among the adults and older siblings in his family, but in between arguments with brothers, terrible haircuts, and witnessing his father’s incredible ability to find just the right person to help, he gradually realizes there’s a much more important purpose to their journey. Martín packs each page with self-deprecating observations about himself and his family, and while they’re nearly all wry, they’re also touched with genuine affection. His bright and colorful artwork is also a sheer delight: while mythologizing his abuelito, he switches to a classic superhero-comic art style, complete with benday dots, while more somber scenes are rendered in a softer palette and line quality. There’s much to savor here, from the thoughtful exploration of bicultural identity to the good-natured snarky teasing of siblings to pivotal moments of growth amid guileless kidhood. It’s a tightrope balancing act of antic humor and genuine pathos, and Martín pulls it off with tremendous flair. “— Sarah Hunter, Booklist, starred review

“I. Love. This. Book. Look, about the time a kid’s Pop Rocks get stuck in his snot and start creating huge bubbles, I knew we had a future classic on our hands. So where the friggin’ heck has Pedro Martín been all these years? This doesn’t feel like a debut, but rather like a polished retelling of his Mexican/Mexican-American family and upbringing. The storytelling is wielded expertly, leaping back and forth in time, managing to make you laugh uproariously one moment and get a little weepy the next. I mean, at the moment that the family’s digging up grandma’s grave before she floats down the river . . . you know what? I’ll stop describing it to you. You’re just going to have to read it yourself in August. Believe me. It’s worth the wait.” —Betsy Bird, School Library Journal site A Fuse #8 Production: Newbery/Caldecott 2024: Summer Prediction Edition

“Mexikid is a delightful story packed with family history, culture, closeness . . . and a Winnebago full of laughs.” —Terri Libenson, New York Times bestselling author of Emmie & Friends series

“Mexikid is poignant, laugh-out-loud funny, and masterfully weaves road trip misadventures with history and family legacies. This is one of those books that kids will pass to their friends as soon as they have finished it.” —Victoria Jamieson, creator of National Book Award Finalist When Stars Are Scattered

A stunning visual tale…The graphic novel was definitely invented for important human stories like this. This is a really addictive read. I found myself really sinking into the story as all the detail unfolded and it reminded me of when I first discovered Art Spiegelman’s, Maus…A story from the heart spilled out onto the page in every possible detail…I’m already a lifelong fan of anything else that will appear from the pen of Pedro Martin. —Chris Mould, Award winning author and illustrator of the Pocket Pirates series

“This is a visually enticing book which is one of the most beautifully produced graphic novels for children I have seen. It makes sophisticated use of its form in a way which is reminiscent of classic works of graphic memoir for adult readers such as Fun Home and Persepolis, combining action-packed narrative scenes with direct address to the reader. It could therefore serve as an excellent prompt for children to produce their own graphic memoirs about an aspect of their family or heritage.” —Stephen Dilley, Just Imagine

The story unfolds through a blend of cartoon, comic-style illustrations that are bold and full of exuberance. Mexikid is the story of a multi-generational, immigrant family that’s full of love, laughter and bigger-than-life lore. It’s a heartwarming read that readers will gobble up. —Crackingthecover.com

Absolutely loved it! ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

It’s so sweet and funny and weirdly dark and grown up in the most unexpected and best of ways. —Brian Gordon, Creator: Fowl Language Comics

“…if they’d ever done a book for children before they wouldn’t have tried to get away with everything this book gets away with. …Soaked in a reality that few can master on the page as well, Mexikid may be one of the best comics I’ve ever read for this age range. Consider it an amazing example of how to retell the story of your youth in the most epic (yet shockingly accurate) way possible. ....One of the most enjoyable books you’ll encounter out there. A true modern day classic.” —Betsy Bird, School Library Journal site: Review of the Day A Fuse #8 Production:

“Not only is this a story of family love and discovery, but also a great look back at the 70’s and its music, technology, movies, and TV shows . . . Highlights include the author’s recounting of the past stories he heard about his grandfather fighting in the revolution, the real-life photos of Martín’s family, and several pages of questions and answers about his life. Naturally many of the phrases are in Spanish, some with translations. The art is wonderfully drawn, realistic, flows smoothly, and the use of color to show emotion gives the reader a full understanding of the events.” —School Library Connection

“This was such a fun memoir. The illustrations were spot-on and the family hilarious and loving. This is really a life-is-stranger-than-fiction book filled with adventure, discovery, unforgettable people, hijinks, crazy haircuts, and real-life superheroes. A wonderful summer read for kids (and adults!) of all ages.” —Nicole Miller, Barbara’s Books bookseller

“This coming-of-age, middle grade memoir was laugh-out-loud funny and touching. Pedro Martin does a fantastic job of showing the struggle of trying to bridge his Mexican and American worlds together—particularly that of his own generation and his legendary grandfathers. Excellent illustrations and very engaging.” —Lucy Corona, Hicklebee’s bookseller

Available now!

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/691514/mexikid-by-pedro-martin/

I never made my parents come see me perform. I always liked to give them an easy out.

They had surely heard me practicing at home and… let’s face it, we all knew how it would all go down at the performance.

But sometimes, when th stars aligned, they would come see me do whatever it was I was doing and everyone would be pleasantly surprised.

It was a win-win.

Every culture on earth has it own “pozole.” A dish that comforts you and makes you feel connected as a community.

And then that community is quickly torn apart when someone says “that’s not how my grandma makes it.”

I feel like most wars start because someone adds too much cumin to a family recipe and thinks I’m going to sit there and smile through dinner like everything’s ok. It’s not OK. You have ruined my birthday with all this cumin!!

I’ve said too much.

Huge shout-out/apologies to my brother Hugo #justiceforhugo! You’re the best “Hugo Humberto” in the world!

Some parents really think the name-thing trough—including words that rhyme with the name and what their initials spell. Not my parents. It was a real grab bag across the board.

Still, we all made the best of it and moved on with our lives.

Sort of.

When I die and you have to go through my things and decide what’s important, just know— it’s all important

Even those tiny action figure accessories in all my “junk drawers” are important! Super important, in fact!

My advice? Put a rope around my office and charge admission to enjoy it like I do.

(Free on Sundays).

Sometimes you can pinpoint the exact moment you realize what you’re meant to do in life.

And sometimes is a mad scramble to make something up before the grim reaper gets you. Either way, it’s really nice to be able to look back and see the people who sparked something in you that helped you make good choices.

Maggie Jaggla was one of those major sparks. May she look down on what we’ve done with her kindness and smile.

My sister Lila was a born leader and fierce advocate. She understood people and worked tirelessly to make sure everyone was taken care of.

I tried to follow in her steps, but I found that I didn’t really understand people and I was always tired when I worked.

(Thanks to my brother Leon for the memory.)

We only had three channels growing up. Sometimes four. Yet, we were constantly inundated with stories of real live mysterious phenomena that may or may not be living in the forest near our homes.

As if earthquakes and atomic war wasn’t enough to fill our nightmares, we also got a great big dose of marauding man beasts like Big Foot, Sasquatch and the Yeti.

Thank God we had Chewbacca on our side. He was one of the good ones.

We used to go to the fair several times a season. Once with school to see the displays and animals, once with our friends to ride the rides, and one final time to destroy our parents’ last good nerve by asking them for stuff we knew they would never buy us.

“Cotton candy is just sugar! You can eat free sugar at home!”

“We can?!”

“No!”

Good times!

I love a good uniform.

I don’t love wearing them, I love quietly judging their design. When I judge a uniform, I like to look at how it fits the skinniest kid, and the heaviest kid in the band.

If those kids look like they want to murder a band director or an entire booster club, I call that a bad design.

There’s a lot of mystery and coded language that gets tossed around when my parents tell stories about their youth. Whenever I heard the term “She was taken up to the mountains and secretly married,” I had many questions.

Who’s performing secret weddings up there? A stealthy priest? Is there a surreptitious caterer and a back-channel DJ too? Is there a furtive gift registry?

As I got older, I realized it was probably more nefarious than all that. My parents lived during some rough times.

My folks take great pride in two things. The curb appeal of their house and their dedication to not throwing anything away. Ever.

Honestly, though. That second thing is only a point of pride for my apa. My ama would be perfectly happy to have LESS trellises made out of PVC pipe and yards of old Christmas light strings.

Still, from a distance and at a cruising speed of twenty five miles an hour, the house looks pretty cute!

Hot, hot steel.

That’s what I remember about my school playground. The whole construction was made from steel bars and heat absorbing car tires held together by blistering, skin-chewing chains.

No shade anywhere.

Fun times!

If you’ve never had a tortilla that was heated on an open gas flame, you haven’t lived. The magic is in the charred bits. You need to know just when to flip it.

And yes, you MUST use your hands to flip it. That’s part of the experience. If you do it right, each bite will have the satisfying flavor of equal parts char and equal parts danger!

Special thanks to Leon for inspiring this story.

Not to brag, but I got more than a few trophies in my day. When I left home I took two with me. My John Philip Sousa Award and My Drum Major Superior Award from USA Drum Majors Camp.

Ok. That was a full-on brag. I’m not going to lie.

Every time I went home to see my family, my mom would offer to help me pack the rest of them up so I could take them with me. I would always insist that she keep them around to show them off to visitors.

I couldn’t tell if she felt proud or annoyed every time I left with out taking any of those plastic and wood dust collectors with me.

I remember watching the Family Affair TV show every time I faked being sick to stay home from school. It had the best theme song and the best title graphics: spinning jewels and a jaunty happy tune.

Yet, on rewatching, I noticed that the lead actor, Brian Keith did not seem to want to be there. He looked sad.

Did having all those swirling jewels make him feel empty inside?

Brian… are you OK?

After the revolution of 1821, the centuries old monopoly on the ice cream trade held by the Spanish Crown in Mexico fell away making it possible for any ol’ Jose-seis-pack to create his own frozen treats.

My apa took advantage of this freedom to start his own ice cream business at the age of twelve (Although the age got younger the madder he got at our apparent laziness)!

Ironically, he never made, or approved of spending money on, ice cream at home.

I wonder if the Spanish Crown threatened him at some point.

There are two types of mariachi. The “show mariachi” and “working mariachi.” The show mariachi are usually presented on a stage and have banter and choreography involved.

The working mariachi are the hard core guys that hit you up at bars and restaurants. These groups are like human juke boxes. They have to be able to play any song your margarita-addled brain can think of.

And they do it for almost nothing. So tip big, smile plenty, and pay it forward!

That concludes your mariachi PSA.

Whenever someone would say “You should do this! You’d be great at it!” I’d always feel like I’d be a disappointment to that person if I didn’t try.

Truth be told, I don’t think a lot of people really understood what I’d “be great at” because I would consistently underwhelm them and myself.

If I’m accidentally great at something, it’ll be an isolated incident that may or may not be repeatable.

But thanks for thinking about me!

My father was a super-recycler before it was cool. There was no scrap of lumber of length or wire he wouldn’t reuse for something other than its intended purpose.

Old glass doors became makeshift solar heaters and busted extension cords became ad hoc handles for suitcases.

That’s why you didn’t leave your stuff unguarded in the driveway for any length of time. Many of our bikes now live second lives as fancy garden trellises.

Thanks to Leon for reminding me about this story.

I’m pretty sure every society in the world has one food that is super gross but somehow has amazing powers to right wrongs and change the course of a person’s life.

Menudo is just ONE of many Mexican dishes that claims this ability.

I’m not sure if tequila qualifies as a food, but it works the same way.

If you become of fan of something, you legally own a piece of that thing. And if that thing changes in any way, you have the right to complain about it.

This is not just a state and local law, it’s a human right!

There’s always been a blurry line between magic and religion. Especially for old-school Mexicans . Whenever a cousin would bring up some sort of magic ritual or tell me about a witches curse they were avoiding, my ears would perk up. Only because you don’t expect that sort of thing from a traditionally Catholic people.

It’s sort of exciting.

Sorry Catholicism!

Einstein wore the same outfit everyday of his adult life. Not because he was a big weirdo (although he totally was), It was because he found the perfectly comfortable pants/top combo ever and never had to try anything new ever again.

That’s what they saved his brain after he died. To see how an advanced mind was able to find perfection in the mundane!

I’m not saying they’re going to study my brain after I die, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the children of the future will one day see an exhibit of covid-era sweatpants in the Smithsonian and notice my name on the plaque.

My parents are amazing singers. Back in the day, they used to harmonize with each other every chance they could.

I later figured out that there was a little competition mixed in with their dulcet tones. They didn’t really want the other to go completely solo so they would jump into one another’s singing whenever they could.

Either way, they sang like angels. Angels that that were fighting for the limelight.

https://filmmusicnotes.com/2013/07/15/john-williams-superman-theme-superman-march/

The is the very SECOND Mexikid story I ever wrote. In the real version of this story, I actually poop my pants. I was working at Hallmark back then and the golden crown’s always-present filter derailed this story a bit.

THE LENT TRAP

Suffice it to say, Lent was a big influence on my many guilt complexes. Any kid who grew up with forty days of forced repentance a year will tell you the same.

I just think that it was never fair that grown-ups at least had Fat Tuesday before Lent to go crazy and be sin-monsters.

On Fat Tuesday, we were in school, eating fish sticks and Apple Brown Betty.

This story does not do justice to the many amazing invention my dad has created over the years.

We haven’t even talked about the strawberry coring device or the banana warmer!

Not to mention “chicken ladder.” Still need to dive into that.

If you’re from a big family, the only real place to have any alone time was inside your own head.

My “mind palace” was usually only accessible through prolonged staring into space or extended visits to the toilet.

My brother Leon has been sending me memories and stories for years. It’s either because he likes storytelling like I do, or he’s trying to get his crimes off his chest.

Luckily, the statute of limitations on many of those state and local crimes have expired.

The family grudges live on. (I’m kidding. Love you guys)

The day I realized you can buy a movie ticket for one movie but then walk into another one, I was reborn!

The theater owners probably wondered why I came weekend after weekend to see The Black Stallion.

“This kid sure loves adaptations of the 1941 classic children's novel of the same name!”

Nah. Bo Derek in “10” was next door.

My father still has dreams about working in the fields. In them, he says he works all day and never gets tired.

It makes me happy for him that he found a job that he enjoyed so much, he dreams happy dreams about it.

( I still haven’t found that job where I fight vampires off with a lightsaber. Cuz that’s one of my happy dreams.)

PS. Stuff in this story actually happened. For reals!

Survival stories always get to me because I know that in any crises I may find myself in, I will eventually be eaten by wolves.

Even if it’s a non-wolf-related crises like being locked in corporate tower that has been taken over by terrorists. I would instantly be eaten by wolves.

I am easy wolf food.

We used to help my dad fill out various forms at the beginning of every school year. We even learned how to do his signature.

Even though it was a near perfect match, there was really nothing we could forge his name on that got us anything good.

Except for the Jewish holidays. “Pedro Martin Sr.“ would often write us excuses to miss classes because we had to go to temple and stuff.

¡Que viva l'chaim!

I one-hundred-percent do not enjoy Christmas plays. Not because of the acting or the story, but because of the poinsettias on the stage.

They take me out of the story cuz, first of all, poinsettias don’t grow anywhere near Bethlehem…and secondly, who’s going to care for them after the play?

Sure, you might think it’ll be nice to have one around, but will you be able to provide the proper micro climate they need to survive the winter? I can’t!

I’ve seen to many poinsettias die on my watch. I don’t need to be reminded of their deaths every time you put on a show.

When I was a kid, I would always spend most of of my money on comic books. Even then, my tiny brain could make the calculus: “Candy will make me happy for a minute, but comic books will make me happy forever.”

But later I found that comic books will also hang around my neck forever like an albatross because my still tiny brain thinks that they may be worth something some day.

Oh, well. I’m happy with that calculus.

I used to do school visits when I worked in the corporate world. My biggest concern was that I’d say something stupid and it would stick in a child’s brain for the rest of their lives.

So now, anytime I see a young person acting the fool in a Target, I think, “Oh, man. I bet that’s one of mine.”

Bubble-bursting information is super easy to find nowadays. But back before the internet, you would have to enter a library (big building with books and records) and actively try and break your own bubble.

Luckily, there was a network of older and younger siblings that passed all that terrible goodness on to unsuspecting kids via recess and long waits for the bus.

(Most recess facts were very unreliable.)

(Thanks to my brother Leon for this memory. The longer version of this story had some fresh cow’s milk and snakes involved. We’ll save that for later.)

My favorite thing about the modern world is that everyone who says that their recipe is the traditional way to make something, has several thousand other people online saying that they’re wrong.

Which is great for someone like me who regularly botches a recipe. I can always say it’s “MY traditional recipe,” not just a horrible mistake!

By the way, part of MY traditional recipe is the number for poison control.

First Communion happens when you’re around eight years old. They say that’s when a child hits “the age of reason.” Also, it’s about the age that we start making trouble if you deny us a special treat you’ve been hyping for a solid hour.

You can’t stuff kids into ill fitting shoes and ask them to wait around for no special treat. You’ll have chaos of biblical proportions!

No pun.

Watch nuns make Communion wafers. They’re so cool..

https://youtu.be/0Dxpcu5Cdl8

PS. Obleas (Wafers and Cajeta) are special Mexican sweet treat that you can buy in any Latino market. AND the Dutch make something very similar called “stroopwafel.” Great ideas are everywhere!

The wafer-remnant version can be seen here…

https://articulo.mercadolibre.com.mx/MLM-627678468-recortes-hostias-obleas-recuerdos-primera-comunion-pkt-_JM#position=14&type=item&tracking_id=1140892b-aaa2-4669-808a-738f1398b257

I’ve had the honor to wear several band uniforms in my day. Even though they were all very different, they all suffered from one fatal flaw— they could all be easily balled up into a sweaty lump and tossed into a car trunk where they would be magically forgotten for weeks.

Then they would mysteriously be remembered around 9pm the night before a competition or performance.

The smell of sweat, car trunk, panic, and spray starch followed me around my entire band career.

My apa’s filter is all but gone these days. Whenever he calls me up to tell me a story, I can hear my ama in the background telling him to stop, or saying “Puras mentiras” (All lies.).

But then they both laugh out loud because they know the stories are true.

Filterless folks can be pretty damn amusing sometimes.

The Quick Stop was a candy and comic book store that also sold other things like food, gas and other non-comic book and candy items.

It was .8 miles from my house but seemed so much farther away at the time. It was almost as if the more you wanted to get there, the farther it got.

Sometimes I’d even pack a snack to walk all that way to go buy a snack.

Every musical instrument I’ve ever played had an element of gore or disgusting byproduct to it. You’d think that fact would be poetically offset by the beautiful music I produced.

Nope!

I was never a good enough musician to rise above the gallons of sloppy trombone spit that soaked through every carpet I’ve ever played on.

Such is life.

Ps. That kid in the first few panels is Baby Alex. Just a little older for this story.

One day, my dad gave us a choice: Go to college, or keep working in the fields with him. To a person, we all screamed “College!” and threw our muddy work shoes into a nearby river.

Not really, those shoes were still good. Plus pollutions a real problem.

I do, to this day I thank my dad for the experience of working with him out in the fields. He was the best boss I ever had. And the most motivational. He showed me what I didn’t want to do with the rest of my life.

A boss that gives you choices is a good boss.

Food origins is one of those subject matters that always fascinates me. Ever since I tried Indian food for the first time and I was convinced it was Mexican food and I was being tricked.

“This is obviously a carne guisada and some super-sized flour tortillas! And the lady making the food is a fancy-dressed Mexican mom! I will not be fooled!”

I’m sure that somewhere, somehow, ancestors of both the Indian mom and the Mexican mom colluded to fake me out. And I love that.

I think there’s a scientific theory that says that just by observing an experiment you’ve changed the outcome. So if you have to check the pressure of a tire, you need to let some air out, therefore changing the amount of air in the tire.

See?! I paid attention that day. Anyway, it’s the same for romance in school. Everyone around it effects it just by observing it.

So if it does’t work out, blame everyone but yourself! They should have quit looking at your romance. Bunch of stupid romance-lookers.

My favorite part of playing in the band was never the solo part. I always like the middle parts. The parts that made the harmonies.

Soloists had way too much to lose. I was safe from ridicule and judgment in the second position.

In my opinion, second chair trombone is the coziest of all the chairs in the band, and therefore, the best chair.

I doth protest too much.

https://youtu.be/tERANkaKCeI

Whenever I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, artist/scribbler was NEVER my answer. Far from it. I had to be told that that’s what I was going to be.

And I’m still not 100% on board!

Maybe because I’m not 100% grown up yet. See me in twenty years when my brain is fully developed. I might have some solid ideas by then.

https://youtu.be/lMmGhAO1SFE

My poor mom and that bus. It never went directly anywhere we made her take us. It was always at least two transfers away.

Luckily two of those transfer points were just steps away from Ice cream. There was one next to Thriftys, which had the world famous cylindrical scoop, and the second was the Plaza stop which had the place with the waffle cone.

If you could time it out, the trip to see the doctor for your fake illness would also include ice cream.

Peanuts © Peanuts Worldwide LLC

The great Charles Nelson Riley and the great Brett Somers:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-vE4HqEToGw

I’ve always imbued inanimate objects with personalities and feelings.

It’s a super-cute practice when you’re five-years-old so it stands to reason it’s like ten-times cuter when you’re in your fifties. Right?

Blink once if you agree.

Thank you.

Every time my mom would put together her nacimiento, I’d double check to make sure every little plastic or porcelain character were in a good place. Both physically and mentally.

I didn’t want any bad blood between the lamb and the camel.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NM20BvonU2o

Sometimes the land tells you it is time to move on. And when your very existence relies on what the land says, you gotta listen.

Sometimes the cows tell you that too, but the cows say a lot of things that aren’t true.

My dad has had to deal with the land pushing him on his whole life. But now he and the land have figured some stuff out. When the land says, “No tomatoes this year,” dad says “How about garlic?”

“Or Figs! How about some sweet, sweet figs?”

The Figman of New Mexico speaks his truth:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gBbXAIbHpk

45 RPM records needed this weird little plastic adapter to play on a record player that was built for a 33 1/3 RPM album.

If you couldn’t find one (they were always missing), you had to put you thumb between the spindle and the inner edge of the 45 RPM and try and center it as the turntable turned.

Then, if for any reason, the record had a scratch in it, you’d have to balance pennies on top of the needle arm to keep it from skipping.

So when your streaming service buffers, think about the elaborate game of record-player-Jenga your ancestors used to have to play to hear just one John Denver classic.

Enjoy John Denver and Mama Cass:

https://youtu.be/bRe648clNjg

My dad almost never bought us anything new. It was never about affordability (almost never), it was more about his love of recycling and his appreciation of a good, hard-luck story.

“That came from an old woman who’s husband had just died. God bless her.” “I bought that from a prison where they taught inmates how to upholster. May God have mercy on their souls.”

All the details were vague, but it was better than “I got this at the Kmart for $14.97. May God keep them solvent forever.”

PS. How kids rode back in the day:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tWDprSdH2xQ

Almost every story or snippet of a story my parents have shared with me has some sort of peril or mortal danger in it.

And every time I hear one of these stories I get genuinely afraid for them.

I’m not sure if they do this on purpose or it’s just they way they grew up, but hearing stories like “I made the best ice cream bars in town but the real money came from all the guns I sold out of the room above the shop” makes me want to shake the younger versions of my parents and say “What were you thinking?”

They either lived a really scary life or they know how to thread a great story. Or both.

It’s probably both.

Sometimes you have to ask yourself, “Am I the jerk?” Just being able to ask yourself that takes you out of the running of being a “full jerk” and squarely in the camp of being a “half jerk.”

Then, it’s a simple course correction to get you right out of jerkdom altogether.

I MAY have been the jerk when I got into the fight with that girl in panel two. I MAY be full-on half jerk. I’ll work on it.

Old world medicine relies on a balance between opposites. Hot and cold, wet and dry, soft and hard. It’s brilliant in its simplicity.

Also, it gives you just enough knowledge to make sweeping and unsubstantiated medical pronouncements at any family gatherings.

“Your headache is caused by the cold air on your head. Grow your hair long and avoid headaches in six to eight months from now!

When you see them at the next family gathering, ask if they have a headache. I bet you it works.

PS. I didn’t realize that The Patatús was a dance sensation: https://youtu.be/iQUMTeDjAyg

Whenever the family gets together, we are weirdly compelled to share our great unrealized inventions and ideas. it usually starts with one person saying “I had this idea for a…” And then someone, probably me, would say “Oh, you know what would make that better?”

It’s easy to “plus-up” other people’s ideas. I made a whole corporate career out of it! All you do is whenever you hear and idea, you say “You know what would make that better? If it was solar-powered!” or “If you made it just for women.”

When I was doing this as a career, the easiest way to kill an idea was to say “That’s great! You should keep that idea for yourself and do it outside this company! You’ll make millions!”

Hence this web series.

https://youtu.be/2mZ-v1TUwyE?t=147

I was always proud of my stint working in the fields with my family.

Anybody who has ever tried it always comes away with the same persistent thought: “Damn that’s a lot of hard work for almost no real money.”

Knowing how hard it is to pick a box of strawberries will make you appreciate everything you see in a supermarket like never before. You’ll want to salute every perfectly displayed stack of produce they got!

And when they escort you out of the store for blocking the aisles, tell them to thank the farmworkers for their service!

https://www.cbsnews.com/video/innovative-partnership-aids-farm-workers/

Dressing for work in the fields was challenging. The mornings were bone chilling cold and the wet strawberry leaves would give you welts on your arms if you weren’t covered up.

And when the sun did break through the seaside fog, it would literally destroy you for wearing a Pendleton shirt and Playtex rubber gloves as part of the same outfit.

The seaside weather is a deadly fashion critic.

https://youtu.be/aSRhtb2Ovok

My parents could grow anything anywhere. If there was a patch of dirt in our yard with a little sun hitting it, my folks would fight over what they would plant there.

The negotiations were often long and there would be money involved.

There is a three-foot-square piece of lawn left that I like to think of as the neutral zone. It’s the Switzerland of our yard.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_l7sak6Vlq8

Toilet paper used to come in all kinds of beautiful pastel colors. From the 1950’s to the early 1980’s you could buy a veritable rainbow of butt-wipes!

These tissues made the most beautiful paper carnations for all your decoration needs. Wedding cars, parade floats… well, that’s pretty much it.

Just those two things.

Times change. And try as you might, it’s nearly impossible to decorate a car with a bidet.

http://historysdumpster.blogspot.com/2012/08/coloured-toilet-paper.html

It was always a treat when we got to play a popular song in band. Something that was actually on the radio!

it NEVER sounded like the radio version and everyone was always slightly disappointed. It was a little like being cool, only not.

”You light up my life” was different. It was like being cool-adjacent.

Ps. My wife hates when I say the title of this song. She thinks the song will infect her brain and she won’t be able to get rid of it for hours.

It will and she won’t.

(The Didi Conn-Kasey Cisyk version) https://youtu.be/oJfRc5rzXdo

In 1968, Roger Ferriter designed the the plastic egg that Hanes used to sell their famous “L’egg” Pantyhose.

Roger then took an early lunch.

Hanes put their pantyhose into the egg container so that they could sell them in grocery stores because women were already there buying real eggs. That was the logic. The man logic!

In the summer and fall of 1977, it spawned a secondary market among boys . Star Wars had come out in theaters and it had not provided us with any merchandise. The L’egg egg looked so much like R2D2 that we begged our moms and sisters to give us that packaging. This provided Hanes with millions of more dollars in revenue that it did not expect!

You’re welcome Hanes.

https://youtu.be/JXj-7QzWLlk

Esperanto was supposed to bring us all together. I thought for sure with all the English I melted into my Spanish, I would be the first in my community to master Esperanto!

(Esperanto was created as an easy and flexible language that would serve as a universal second language to foster world peace and international understanding!)

Instead, I just became an expert at Central Spanishfornia. A Spanish-English hybrid that allowed me to communicate with most of the people in my household growing up. And it did not always foster peace.

William Shatner did a whole movie in Esperanto called Incubus: https://youtu.be/zhgl7wL8h-8

The old Cathode Ray Tube (CTR) TVs took no less than 10 minutes to warm up so that the color and picture were at their brightest. In the early eighties, they added a thing to the TVs so that they would always be warm when you turned them on.

Guess what? TV fires!

Those old TVs were crazy. Whenever you turned one on, it would make sound that was like a crack of electricity. There was no way to be sneaky if you wanted to watch TV during Lent or when Saturday Night Live was on after everyone went to bed.

And whenever you turned one off, it would make these loud crackly sounds way after the picture was gone. My dad said that that was the TV complaining about how hard we made it work that day.

He wasn’t wrong.

https://youtu.be/lxQS58t39_U

I inherited my love for the Beatles, The BeeGees, and to a lesser extent, Peruvian pan flute music from my older siblings. Whatever media came into the house and was left unattended, became mine too.

(I blame my love of Mariachi on my dad.)

Whoever brought MAD magazine into the house created a monster. I learned to read by sounding out Don Martin’s insane sound effects and I learned to draw by copying Sergio Aragonés’s tiny marginal drawings.

Hey family. This all your doing!

https://youtu.be/pK6xE-9sdII

https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/65069/12-things-you-may-not-know-about-mad

I’ve always left my parent’s house richer for being there. Both spiritually and monetarily.

Even today, I bet if I said I was going to the store or to get a coffee, someone would try to give me twenty bucks.

Or a banana to keep me fed for the three block trip to the Starbucks.

That is before they argue that Folder’s instant is just as good. “You’re just paying for the cup! The coffee is the same!”

https://youtu.be/U4vj26q0IyM

I learned a lot about the dangers around me by listening to songs and watching movies. I learned to stay away from the Copa Cabana because of the rampant gunplay there. I learned I’d need to stay out of season in the sun because once you see birds singing in the sky, you’re done for!

Jaws messed me up too. And I didn’t even see that movie! My brothers told me about it.

Luckily, all those stories came with solutions built in. Like, If you’re going to sail the Edmund Fitzgerald, leave a little early next time. Or check the weather repots.

And if your name is Billy, don’t be a hero. It’s right there in the lyrics, man!

https://youtu.be/1qlK9TJvuSk

My mom and I had a short but enlightening chat about how long to cook “frijoles de la olla.”.

“You cook them until they’re done.”

The only tangible information that came out of that call was “add the salt last.” So, with the content of this story and the thing about the salt, you have a functioning recipe to work with. Good luck to you!

Believe me, I’ve tried to capture the fluid recipes that my parents use to execute their best dishes. I’ve even tried to video tape them doing it. It’s never the same twice, but always the same.

By the way… lowriders! https://youtu.be/VjO0crCZNjQ

Being part of The Penny Club was a blast. They taught me how to play the electric bass, which upped my coolness factor by like a thousand percent. Not to disparage the valve trombone or the baritone horn, but putting your lips up to a conical spit collection device is not sexy.

When I got older, I got to play in The Penny Club’s teen-age performance group called “El Grupo.” One of my favorite pieces was “Cuando Cliente El Sol,” arranged by our assistant director and music mentor, Mike Wolf. It had this cool disco vibe at the end that stopped the show!

It was sexy.

https://youtu.be/zTvKB1KPQRk

Big thanks to my brother Leon for his first-person accounts of all the bloodiest brother battles.

With seven boys in our family, survival was not guaranteed. You needed to have a good self defense strategy because you never knew where the next attack would come from.

We all had weapons we collected. Ninja stars, lead pipes, nunchucks... But the best defense was distraction and humor. If you could make the fight about words and not punches, you might survive.

Or you could just scream uncontrollably until your parents have to get involved.

By the way… Nunchucks!!

https://youtu.be/-VrU7E04wBI

There were a lot of people in our lives that wanted to help us draw better. Maybe because the saw a future in the world of art for us… OR maybe because they couldn’t stand watching us make the same bad drawing decisions over and over again.

Either way, their guidance and gifts of “How to draw…” books were invaluable!

Especially the “How to draw nudes” book. That book was INVALUABLE! If you have an eight year-old boy who’s interested in drawing, a book of naked lady drawings is an INVALUABLE gift!

Wink.

https://youtu.be/oZPQ4x3XfP8

Getting presents from supernatural beings SOUNDS cool, but knowing a loved one struggled to ride several busses all over town to get you a plaid flannel shirt, is infinitely cooler.

I never had a doubt where our Christmas presents came from… especially since I helped wrap a lot of my own. But I liked playing along.

(Just to clarify, my dad never smoked. Or if he did, he hasn’t told me that story yet. But when he does, I’ll tell you about it.)

Dia de Los Reyes:

https://abc10.com/embeds/video/103-2d60e180-a310-400d-9882-0ec7dcaa2931/iframe?jwsource=cl

My dad and my Tio Rafael would regularly go to auctions to get us livestock for for our winter meats. We lived in quiet suburbs that, at the time, were not accustomed to backyard cattle killing and butchering.

Now everyone is doing it. It’s the suburbs’ answer to farm-to-table eating! Probably!

It didn’t always go smoothly but it was entertaining to see every cat in the neighborhood converge on our house for the free blood.

https://youtu.be/WSg_2Ov3QSM

https://imgur.com/vM5GmZ6

It’s hard not to be impressed when watching someone take something from its simplest state to something delicious to eat. The imagination and desperation it took to figure out that you need to soak dried corn in deadly lye to eventually get a tortilla is mind blowing.

Historically, watching someone figure stuff like this out is man’s work.

I KID! Everyone one has sat back and watched at some point. It’s best to stay out of the way.

Just sit back and watch: https://youtu.be/f7PBe60C4GQ

Fr. Rojas and Mr. Smith were heroes of mine. They both wanted to start something unique in our hometown and I got to play in their respective musical sandboxes. 

Then, I proceeded to track sand from one box to the other.

Do yourself a favor and take a listen to the Penny Club band in action…

https://youtu.be/U6fO6-w9RJA

Confession was the toughest of the Catholic sacraments. The church used to give you thematic buckets that you could use to lump together your sins so that you didn’t really have to go microscopic on how terrible you’ve been. Anything you did that involved your parents was “I disrespected my parents” and then you would attach a rough number of times you did that sort of thing.

“Impure thoughts” was another bucket that was readily available and easily filled. “Twenty three” was always a fair number to use for that one… as long as you didn’t include “a day” to your confession.

Sometimes the trespasses were very real and they didn’t fit into any bucket on their own. These were usually handled with kind but stern advice. And sometimes involved you going back and fixing whatever you did in person.

Those were the ones that made the biggest impressions on me.

https://youtu.be/E3gmAUMg4-M

All my uncles were always nice to me. Kinda/sorta. It was the older cousins and the compadres and distant cousins that were the ones that were trouble. No one was ever mean, they just called stuff as they saw it. I was the sensitive one.

My nieces and nephews will tell you to this day that I have learned nothing from my experiences.

It was all reverse Karma. I deserved what I got for what I was eventually going to do.

https://youtu.be/K9Cy2gvfmsQ

My dad gave us a very clear choice: Study or work in the fields. Having spent several years in the field already, the answer was easy. Every one of us said we wanted to study.

And secretly, I think dad was eager to get some real, hard working pickers on his crew.

We took any opportunity to legitimately be a part of a school activity. Poor kids were limited to sports that had little or no equipment purchases required. There were no poor kids in the ski club. It was soccer or some sort of running situation that seemed doable. I was lucky because the Penny Club Band came around and offered cheap music lessons all year long including a summer day camp and all the church you could handle.

Very little running.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R6_q0MwImTE

The technique of stacking and steaming your tamales is kind of unique to every family. Sometimes even within the family! I’ve even seen my dad stack them differently than my mom would. (Remember: It’s not a fight if my mom always wins. It’s a course correction.)

Some people stand them straight up and down, other people stack them in a star shape on their sides. My mom’s stack is more like the mystifying fibonacci spiral!

If you’re going to steal from the best, you gotta learn their technique. Any good cook can tell if their stack has been disrupted.

https://youtu.be/yd2h7P96pMk?t=22

https://youtu.be/dZodlZeIGNo?t=79

Ex-votos, or votive paintings serve as both a thank you for a miracle received and as a teaching tool for those who are about to do something crazy dangerous. The first one I ever remember seeing was a painting of a miner having his leg blown off by rock shrapnel while he was jack hammering in a cave.

To this day, I am super careful when jackhammering in caves or around the house.

But seriously, these paintings are wonderful and heartbreaking . If you ever get the chance to see some, you’ll understand that sharing painful stories can be healing.

The Basilica of Our Lady of San Juan de los Lagos:

https://www.facebook.com/SevenStarsTravelMexico/videos/1675317909310475/?v=1675317909310475

More on Ex-votos:

https://hyperallergic.com/334143/the-visualized-violence-and-divine-healing-of-the-ex-voto-painting/

Keeping the symptoms of a fake illness going was was a real struggle for me. If you can fake a sore throat well enough to get you out of school, you better be ready to do that all day until at least an hour after everyone else gets home.

I’d usually lose my scratchy voice right around mid morning during the Plinko segment of The Price is Right.

I’m no Meryl Streep.

See how long you can fake a sore, scratchy throat through this…

https://youtu.be/3UpXJTRFQdo?t=28

My older brothers Leon and Noe were kind of like a team. They went by “Leon y Noe.” as if they were one person… or an unfortunate incident that would happen to you.

Like… “What happened? Why are you covered in bruises and bee stings.”

“You know… Leon y Noe.”

“Oh, right. Sorry about that.”

My sister Lila said that if we hadn’t moved away from LA, they would have joined a gang! Or worse, started one!

They turned out more than OK. They’re super great actually! They both very handsome and smart! I wish I could be like them!

I’m not still afraid of them.

Here’s a little of Watsonville…

https://youtu.be/usgzVHogrqY

https://youtu.be/ABRoAxESRrQ

The saying, “If the mano want the money, the mano has to work” came from my dad. Throughout the years it has been repeated, changed, and elaborated on by all my siblings. It even became a song… sort of. Kind of like a samba chant.

The saying’s logic was irrefutable. Once it was uttered, there was no way to argue around it.

But, as we’ll find out later, my dad is also prone to hand out money like it was candy. Even though his mano has to work for his money, he is extremely generous to any mano that needs it.

Speaking of manos that work… https://youtu.be/4qR1vbcz7kM

The Six Million Dollar Man action figure ©Kenner

Sharing a strange new candy or food with someone is one of life’s greatest joys. Especially if it confuses and angers them.

Watching someone spit out a treat and accusing you of trickery is better that TV. (Followed closely by shaming them for wasting food. That’s a double joy.)

I’ve spit stuff out too. But lately, I’ve come to really enjoy pushing through the shock and confusion of some treats until I understand why something might be good to someone else.

Push through the shock and confusion! Enjoy another culture’s weird candy choices today!

How de la Rosa Mazapan is made: https://youtu.be/1w7NCYUtBTA

Just to clarify. This actually happened. I ruined life’s most important events, all the time.

Trying out a lot of different instruments was fun. Getting good at any of them, on the other hand, was work. Some of those instruments had a lot of rules and complexities that I struggled with. The slide trombone had none of that! It was a guessing-man’s game. It was the wild west of horns. Slide it til you find it!

Please enjoy one of my dad’s favorite marches: La March de Zacatecas. (Skip to 2:05 to hear that sweet solo) https://youtu.be/uzgvaR1U07o

“Chava-Leon-Noe-Hugo-Peeder-Adan-Alex!” In a fit of anger, that’s how my mom would call for one or all of us. Just a string of seemingly nonsensical sounds that meant one or all of us better hide.

(Those are our nicknames/Spanish names all yelled at the same time)

Being part of a sequel of brothers, teachers would often expect the same thing from brother to brother. They were often sadly mistaken. We were more spin-offs than direct sequels.

But, in the right circumstances (darkness, fog), we would all slightly resemble the King.

https://youtu.be/nJSJjiKuIdE

(In this story, my mom’s dialogue is translated from Spanish.)

My parents can grow anything. As a kid, it didn’t seem like a skill I could get behind. But today, it’s like watching Mozart at his best… but with plants… and it’s my parents, not Mozart.

It’s not an exaggeration to tell you that you can literally fall out the front door of their house and land in a delicious salad. Or wave a stick in the air and be pummeled by fresh fruit juices.

My mother’s knowledge of old-world medicinal herbs and vegetables is pretty phenomenal. She can, and has, cured a high fever with cold sewed tomatoes.

By the way, Verdolagas (Purslane) are an amazing superfood you should get to know. And they’re free in most dirt-filled areas.

https://youtu.be/5s6rxu0Zutg

During the colonial period, the French and the Spanish brought the art baking to Mexico and Central America. After they left, we just ran with it. Made it cooler.

We did the same with the polka. You’re welcome, Europe!

Of the nearly 2,000 types of Mexican pastries, the concha is widely considered the king them all! Probably! It’s the pastry you buy when you want to have a happy moment. No one gets mad when there’s a concha around.

https://youtu.be/aLg3rMGml9s

The Big Wheel was a molded plastic tricycle that was built for older brothers to destroy. It was frustrating to see a little kid not take advantage of the potentially dangerous stunts you could do on a Big Wheel. It was easier just to push that kid to the ground, grab his trike, and do some awesome donuts on the street.

Once that front plastic wheel wore out it was off to the dump where the Martin boys swore that they could rebuild it with duct tape.

https://youtu.be/mF8Tzi_yUIg

At school, anything that was “a thing” would eventually get weaponized and then suddenly outlawed. Marbles, paperclips and rubber bands, yo-yos... especially yo-yos!

If you give a kid a 70g piece of hard plastic on the end of a string, you’ve given them a weapon. That’s your fault.

Pencil fighting was one of those things that was so simple that after playing it once, you would want to figure out how to make it more dangerous and more exciting. And more illegal.

Now you want to try it, huh?

https://youtu.be/jyHXJj7f9BM

Even though rules about dating back in the old world seem quaint, they were deadly serious. My mom still gets super mad when she talks about girls’s reputations being ruined by some little misstep or some machista (macho jerk) spreading lies.

Don’t get her started!

On a separate note, this is my wife’s favorite song to be serenaded by… https://youtu.be/XvoIR78qWmc

I love a good band uniform. Whenever I was given the opportunity to put one on, I took it! Wearing those things always came at a price, though. Either I had to work to pay for it somehow, or I had to deal with design flaws that made it super uncomfortable or ridiculous.

In high school, the only uniform I could fit into used to belong to a large girl. The woolen top had darts in it to hold her boobs comfortably.

I marched around for a year with fake woolen boobs.

It was fine.

https://youtu.be/qjJdSinx-S8

It’s usually young parents who call for a piñata. They don’t mean to make kids cry, they just want to build some cute memories and get some sweet Instagram photos.

It’s not their fault that a game that involves a blind batter and candy-lust isn’t inherently safe and sane.

All that said, I love watching a piñata bashing. It’s awesome.

https://youtu.be/9D2tQgK9ABQ

Mexican hot chocolate like magical concrete. If you can bust off a piece and manage to dissolve it in hot milk, it will grant you an amazing cinnamon-laced, chocolaty experience. And even if you don’t manage to dissolve it, grinding away at a jagged chunk with your teeth will leave with an amazing cinnamon-laced, chocolaty soft palate wound.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OeFL4AWagmc

We used to wrap our books in brown paper bags at the beginning of the school year. They were like blank canvases. A place where you could express yourself with drawings and cool lettering. You were screwed if you could draw the tiniest bit well. The request would never stop and they were always super complicated and impossible to get right.

Motorcycles, horses and cars are impossible to draw!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eLsjmeVvMo8

You gotta try all the colors, right? When it comes to pan or sodas, you gotta try them all. Pro tip: not all in one sitting, nor even all in the same day. Your body can only absorb four colors per day. Probably. Look it up! #fact #probably.

The title refers to the song “De Colores.” We sing it all the time and for almost every occasion. It’s one of the happiest songs about color that features three Spanish language poultry onomatopoeia.

https://youtu.be/48vNfKUHWRw

(Spoiler: Ron is Rum)

My parents opened La Posada soon after they started our family. the history of the restaurant-hotel is peppered with moments of brilliance that sometimes ran afoul of the church’s wholesome undertakings. This three chapter series will explore just a few of those moments.

Previously: My parent’s restaurant became more popular than praying in Latin because of the newly invented TV and dinner option. Now, my dad inadvertently steals away the parishioners from early services again! Who’s to know what peoples motivations are.