Nachito, Nacho, Nones, Chito, Gordito
All of the above are nicknames given to Nachito. And there again, not his name. His real name is Ignacio Fernando Lopez Romo. He was named after his two paternal grandparents. A very strong Hispanic name I would say. Had we stayed in Douglas, this name would not be an issue. It would be pronounced correctly and no one would think that he was named after the movie Nacho Libre. At a birthday party, people wouldn't question the many names that he is called, they would just know. They would understand that Nacho and Nachito are names for Ignacio just like Bob and Bobby are to Robert. They would know that Chito, Gordito and even Nones are just nick names that us Hispanics give our kids. Not just one, but many. Every family member gives each kid a different one. Buddy for instance is Pelacho on his mom's side and Chavita on his Dad's side, Sal to his friends, and well Buddy to us.
I of course picked Ignacio in honor of my dad. My Mexican born dad. The one who never became a United States citizen because he was so proud of his country and his heritage (not because he had anything against the United States, he just loved his own country too). The one that never allowed my sisters and I to speak English at home because he knew we would learn it at school. The one that made all three of his daughters be completely fluent in Spanish. Read it, write it and speak it. The one that took us to the poverty stricken streets in Mexico and made us appreciate what we had and at the same time, made us humble enough to know that we were no better than they were because we had a few more luxuries than they did. That liking nice things was not a crime, but thinking that you were better because you had them was. And that showing off and bragging about things was tasteless. He always said that there is always people out there that have more. That we are small fish in a big pond and if we had to brag about our accomplishments and our belongings then he didn't raise us right. He wanted us to be proud of our accomplishments, but humble and honest about it to.
He always discouraged friendships that would make us play fire with fire. I'll never forget one time in Middle School, I had a friend that did not believe me when I told her that I had a horse. She also rode horses, but hers was boarded in Douglas. She would ride her horse for the parades and I could never ride mine because mine was kept in Mexico. She said that if I really had one, that I could have my dad get the paperwork to let it cross over for at least the parade. I asked my dad if he could and he said yes. As the parade got closer, my dad over heard me tell a friend that now that person would finally believe me. He asked me if I was trying to prove something to someone. I said yes, she doesn't believe that I have a horse. He immediately stopped the paperwork to have my horse cross the border. He said you don't have to prove anything to anyone. You know that you have one, and that is all that matters. You need to be the bigger, better person. Don't go back and forth with someone, it's immature and not worth it. You need to get people like that out of your life. Sometimes I forget his advise and I am guilty of letting people get the best of me. I just need to keep his advise fresh in my heart, body and soul.
My dad was also the one who filled us with our Mexican culture. Growing up in Douglas, AZ is almost like growing up in Mexico. The distance between Mexico and Douglas is a few feet. If you walk down International street in Douglas, you can see the little town of Agua Prieta, Sonora. This is where my parents met. My mother was the youngest of four and she was the only one of her siblings born in the US. My grandfather was born in Clifton, AZ and met my grandmother while he was playing professional baseball in Mexico. After he retired from baseball, they settled in Douglas.
My father was the youngest of six, the only male, and was born on their ranch in Agua Prieta, Sonora. He lost his father at the young age of two. He was raised by his five sisters and his mother. The only male father figures that he ever had were the ranch hands. He had to grow up pretty fast. At eighteen, he inherited the ranch and that's pretty much all he knew. Buy, raise and sell cattle.
On the 16th of September, both Douglas and Agua Prieta turn into the biggest party ever. It's their independence day. Lots of parties and a huge parade. My dad used to bring in all of his horses into the city and just saddle them up and lend them to people so that they could ride in the parade. I guess my mom wanted a cowboy of her very own. This is how they met and fell in love. This was the start to our international upbringing. Back and forth we went. Our mom did not want to live in Mexico, and our Dad did not want to live in Douglas. So they compromised. Holidays and weekends in Mexico and our daily lives in Douglas. School and activities in Douglas and social gatherings in Mexico. A Driver's license in Mexico at 13, drivers permit in Douglas at 15 and a half. Night clubs in Mexico at 13 (without permission), 15 with permission. Night clubs in Douglas at 21. My Quinceañera in Douglas, my Debutante Ball in Agua Prieta. Friends from both sides. And just like us, there were so many other families. Most of my friends that lived in AP, had homes in Douglas. They would go to school in Douglas and on weekends, back to AP. It's all I ever knew. Deciding on where to go to dinner was no different. We would either go somewhere in Douglas, or just as easy in AP.
The population of Douglas is mostly Hispanic. Growing up, the main language in Douglas was Spanish. Most of the schools in Douglas had ESL programs. Some schools taught in both English and Spanish. In Douglas, all of the names are Hispanic so everyone can pronounce them. When we moved up here imagine the culture shock it was for people to say Nachito. It was a task teaching people how to say it. I mentioned this to my mom and she said "Well, then use his middle name and people can just call him Fernie". I was mad. No way, I love his name! My dad would have loved that he was named after him. No offence to my father in law and brother in law. But people were going to have to try and say it.
As years went by we got used to the way people pronounced his name because people at least tried. Then the question would come? What nationality are you? Are you Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban or Spanish? I would say I'm American because I was born in the United States, but my dad was Mexican if that helps. So you are Mexican? Well, yes, but I'm a U.S. citizen and I vote here, so I'm an American. But your parents are Mexican? One of my parents was born in Mexico, the other one wasn't. I have dual citizenship because of that reason, so I guess I'm a Mexican/American then. That's when I started to question....what am I really? So, I Googled it.
In the eyes of the law, I'm American. In terms of culture I'm not Mexican, because I wasn't born in Mexico and/or don't live in Mexico. I am what is now called Latino or Hispanic. In my heart though, I am both. I carry both flags in my heart. I don't need to display the Mexican flag on my car, or at my house to prove anything. I know my culture in and out. I am proud to be of Mexican heritage. So from now on when people happen to ask me what I am, I will say I'm just ME!
Phew...This was a longer post than I planned. I went in all sorts of directions. It all started on Saturday at Nachito's birthday party. A very observant mom says to me. "I'm confused, the invitation said Ignacio and Nachito in quotes. But at school they call him Nacho. Then I just heard your sister call him Gordito and the baby just called him Chito. What is his real name?" And so the story goes..................
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