How Tia Lola Learned to Teach

by Julia Alvarez

  “No, they’re not! My piñata is real special.”

  “Actually, you’re right,” Miguel says, pretending to change his mind. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a donkey piñata that looks so much like a chicken. Now, that is special.”

  “It does not look like a chicken!” Juanita protests. Then she appeals to their aunt: “Does my piñata look like a chicken, Tía Lola?”

  “It looks like a beautiful yellow donkey with a pointy nose,” Tía Lola assures her. Somehow that makes both children happy.

  Tonight they are working in the kitchen so that Tía Lola can help with the piñatas while also minding the baking she’s doing for the party. She has already finished several batches of suspiros, cookies whose name means “sighs” because they are light and airy but (sigh!) gone before you know it. Also a tin full of caballitos, “little horses,” cookies with a kick of ginger. The kitchen smells delicious. Meanwhile, on the table, there are piles of bright tissue paper and a jar of paste and a pail of paintbrushes as well as chicken wire to make the frames on which to drape the strips of paper into a credible animal.

  “So what are you going to make?” Juanita challenges her brother, who has been doodling another page of zeroes in his notebook.

  Miguel shrugs like he doesn’t care. But in fact, he can’t seem to come up with any ideas at all for a cool piñata. He is starting to feel like a total loser, and not just in English class. When his little sister heads upstairs with Mami for her bedtime, Tía Lola sits down across the table from Miguel.

  “¿Qué hay, Miguel?” she asks. How is her nephew doing?

  Miguel sighs and closes his notebook. “I feel like I’m not good at anything.” He is ready to admit it—out of earshot of his sister.

  “Of course you are. You’re a good baseball player,” Tía Lola reminds him kindly. “You have a great imagination. You’re good with your hands. You have green fingers, like the Americans say.”

  “It’s thumbs, Tía Lola, green thumbs,” Miguel corrects her. All last summer, Miguel did help Tía Lola with her vegetable garden, which she insisted on planting in the shape of the Dominican Republic. Actually, all he did was follow her directions. “And I’m not exactly good at any of those things, Tía Lola, just average. And lately, below average.”

  “Con paciencia y con calma, se subió un burro en una palma,” Tía Lola counsels. It’s a little rhyme that makes Miguel smile in spite of his impatience: “With patience and calm, even a donkey can climb a palm.” In his imagination, Miguel sees a donkey struggling to get up a palm tree.

  “The best ideas come when you relax and let your mind play,” Tía Lola is saying. “So take a deep breath and count to ten.”

  Miguel does just that. When he is done counting, Tía Lola tells him to begin again! “This time, I want you to count to ten in Spanish. Uno, dos …” She talks Miguel through the exercise, reminding him to breathe between each number.

  Just as they are getting to diez, ten, a flashbulb goes off in Miguel’s brain. He has a great idea for a piñata: a palm tree to go along with his sister’s donkey!

  “What are you laughing at?” Mami has joined them in the kitchen after tucking in Juanita.

  “Myself, I guess,” Miguel says, and that’s not a white lie either. Tía Lola has always said that a sense of humor is a sense of perspective. Now Miguel sort of knows what she means. Everything that seems worrisome and huge can suddenly look manageable and small if you take the time to be patient and see the humor in things. Like imagining that poor donkey struggling to climb up a palm tree.

  By Friday, however, Miguel is feeling impatient again. He sits in school all day, wondering if Papi has already arrived in Vermont. He counts to ten and diez so many times, any donkey would have climbed up to the clouds by now.

  In math, the long-division problems seem to go on forever. Afterward, it’s science and how gravity works. Talk about borrrring! In social studies, the class is putting together a poster, titled IF YOU WERE THERE IN 1492: EVERYDAY LIFE IN THE TIME OF COLUMBUS. Who cares? Miguel thinks.

  Then, after lunch, spelling, penmanship, and the dreaded reading period. By the time the final bell rings, Miguel is ready to bolt. But he still has to wait until his row is called. “One, uno, two, dos …” He practices being patient.

  Finally, Miguel is saying goodbye to Mrs. Stevens at the front entrance. “Feliz fin de semana, Miguel,” she says, showing off her Spanish.

  “Happy weekend, Mrs. Stevens,” Miguel replies.

  Out in the parking lot, Miguel scans the cars for out-of-state license plates. None in sight. But here’s his little sister racing to join him, full of happy chatter about the weekend. Miguel will have to wait some more to reach the top of his palm tree: seeing Papi.

  At long last, the bus drops them off at their mailbox. And there it is—a car with New York plates sitting in their driveway. But instead of racing ahead to be the first to hug his father, Miguel slows his steps. That sense of dread is descending again, like a great big collapsed palm tree on his head.

  “Hey, Papi’s here!” Juanita has just now noticed the car. But before she can run off, Miguel stops her.

  “Nita, I need to tell you something,” he begins patiently, wanting to prepare his little sister. “It’s about … well …” But Miguel can’t think of a way to say it more gently, and he ends up blurting it out: “I’m almost sure Papi’s going to marry Carmen.”

  But his sister shrugs as if she still doesn’t seem to understand that Papi’s remarriage means they will be getting a stepmother. Now, Miguel’s not a big reader like Juanita. But anyone who has read even a handful of fairy tales knows stepmothers can be pretty evil.

  “Carmen’ll be our stepmother,” he reminds her.

  “Is that bad?” Juanita asks. The look on her face, as well as her question, sends a pang through Miguel’s heart. He’s been in such a hurry to grow up, but now he wishes he were still as sweet and innocent as his little sister. “I like Carmen, don’t you?” she adds.

  Miguel hates to admit it, but his annoying, not-as-creative-as-a-fifth-grader baby sister has just made him stop in his tracks. Slowed down, with patience and calm, Miguel realizes that he doesn’t dislike Carmen. What’s more, his father is a lot happier now than when he was all by himself. But it’s Mami that Miguel worries about. Even though she has never said so, Miguel senses that his liking Carmen would upset his mother. After all, unlike Papi, Mami hasn’t found someone new to love.

  “Carmen’s okay,” Miguel admits to his little sister. “I just want to wait awhile before we get new families.”

  “Miguel Ángel Guzmán!” His little sister cocks her head, hands on her hips, just like Mami when she is confronting him. “I thought you were the one always in a big huge hurry.” Word for word what Mami says!

  “I am!” Miguel hollers, and starts racing down the driveway, his little sister at his heels. Whether or not he’s ready for a stepmother, Miguel is impatient about one thing: seeing his father.

  lesson five

  Los tropezones hacen levantar los pies

  Stumbling makes you pick up your feet

  It’s Saturday evening, almost time for Rudy’s surprise birthday party. While they wait for Papi and Carmen to arrive from the bed-and-breakfast down the road so they can all drive over to the restaurant, Juanita and Miguel go up to Tía Lola’s attic bedroom to visit with her. Miguel has a pressing question he can’t ask Mami.

  “Papi said he wanted to come up because he had something to tell us, but he hasn’t told us anything,” Miguel begins. On the bed beside him is Tía Lola’s piñata, a flamingo with long, skinny legs and a droopy neck that makes it look like an ostrich wanting to hide its head in the sand. But there is no mistaking its pink flamingo color.

  “Knowing your papi, he’s probably waiting for the right moment,” Tía Lola suggests. “And today’s been so busy. First, going to your ballet class, Juanita, and then over to the slopes to watch you snowboard, Miguel. It has been a wonderful d
ay, don’t you think?” But Tía Lola doesn’t wait for their answer. “Carmen is just so nice,” she adds—unnecessarily, in Miguel’s opinion. It has been great to have Papi around, period. But even he has to admit that he did appreciate Carmen’s exclaiming that Miguel Ángel is such a wonderful athlete, and ohmy-goodness! so brave to come down a steep mountain on a small board.

  “She said my pliés were like a real ballerina’s.” Juanita stands up and executes a couple of graceful bends, holding on to the bedpost.

  “Carmen was right!” Tía Lola claps approvingly. “The truth is, Carmen is a good visitor. Did you see how she gobbled up my pastelitos at lunch? She said they were the best she’d had in months.”

  “I love how she calls us by our whole names: Miguel Ángel and Juana Inés,” Juanita says, pointing to her brother and to herself. “She says they’re the best names on account of yours was the greatest painter and mine the greatest poet.”

  Something is beginning to bug Miguel like a pebble in his shoe: Carmen seems to be spreading her compliments around a little too generously. Does she really mean what she says, or is she just trying to be nice to everyone?

  “You know what they say,” Tía Lola says. She always seems to be able to read Miguel’s thoughts. “Más moscas se cogen con una gota de miel que con un cuarto de vinagre.” You catch more flies with a drop of honey than you do with a quart of vinegar.

  Instead of Tía Lola’s helping to shake the annoying pebble from Miguel’s shoe, her saying adds another pebble. Who wants to think of himself as a duped fly?

  Juanita has stopped her plié-ing to look squarely at her aunt. “Tía Lola, do you have a saying for everything?”

  “Just about,” Tía Lola says, laughing. “Now, let’s get downstairs. You know what they say—”

  “I know, I know,” Juanita pipes up. “ ‘The shrimp who falls asleep is carried away by the current.’ And that goes for flamingos, too,” she adds, picking up Tía Lola’s piñata by the loop in its center. The flamingo dangles from her hand, its neck and legs boinging up and down. It looks like it is trying to dance the merengue, which is hard to do with a tennis ball knotted at each knee and two others holding down its feet.

  “On the other hand,” Miguel offers, “ ‘waking up early doesn’t make the sun rise any faster.’ ”

  “Right!” Juanita gives her brother a high five. “So we might as well ‘dress slowly if we’re in a hurry’ ”—another saying of Tía Lola’s.

  Their aunt stands before them in her bright floral dress, shaking her head at her niece and nephew. “You two don’t need to go to a party. You’re having such a good time already!”

  “That’s because we love you, Tía Lola,” Juanita says, just to make sure her aunt doesn’t take offense at their teasing. “Don’t we, Mr. Flamingo?” The pink bird bobs, agreeing with everything. Kind of like Carmen, Miguel can’t help thinking.

  As they drive over to the party, a soft, celebratory snow begins to fall. Already the parking lot is full of cars—the whole town must be here. The invitation that Mami and Tía Lola sent out instructed everyone to congregate in the library parking lot at five-thirty. A few folks are selected to go across the street into the restaurant ahead of the others, like regular clients, just so Rudy doesn’t get suspicious. Then, as planned, Dawn calls Rudy into the kitchen to help with some “emergency.” Shauna blinks the lights, and that’s the signal! Everyone hurries over—potluck platters and baskets stuffed with homemade goodies and other gifts in hand. When Rudy comes out of the kitchen, scratching his head, the dining room is packed with well-wishers yelling “SURPRISE!”

  Except for Tía Lola, who is yelling “¡SORPRESA!”

  Meanwhile, at the back door of the restaurant, a van has pulled up. Woody, Rudy’s son, unloads several flats of sodas and pizzas and ice cream he couldn’t deliver beforehand since his dad might catch on. In the front dining room, the party is in full swing. From the ceiling hang three outstanding piñatas: a flourishing palm tree—nice to spot one in Vermont in winter; a jittery flamingo; and a donkey that looks a little henpecked. Trays of finger foods make the rounds. Tía Lola’s pastelitos are gone so quickly that Carmen doesn’t even get the chance to have one. “Oh well,” she says graciously. “I already pigged out at lunch.”

  There are speeches and toasts. Everyone wants to know if Rudy didn’t suspect that something was going on.

  “I guess I’m getting old or something,” Rudy says, laughing. “I didn’t have the slightest. I did think supplies looked kind of low for a Saturday night. And when this one,” he adds, pointing to his grinning son, “when he didn’t show up on time, I was ready to fire him.”

  “Fire me?!” Woody says, pretending to be indignant. In the summer, he has a business putting up tents for outdoor weddings and receptions. In the winter, he’s a ski bum, waitering some for his dad. It was his idea to order out most of the food—so that Rudy and all his staff could take the night off and enjoy themselves. But as the guest list grew, Mami and Tía Lola worriedly added “potluck” to the party invitation. Now there will be enough leftovers to feed the whole town for the rest of the week.

  The cake comes out—a replica of Rudy’s restaurant, with a white picket fence around the border formed by his sixty candles.

  Everyone sings “Happy Birthday.” Except for Tía Lola, who sings “Feliz Cumpleaños,” which is the same song, only in Spanish. Then, after a bunch of people remind Rudy to make a wish and another bunch remind him not to tell anyone his wish or it won’t come true, everyone insists that he give a speech.

  “I’m not much on public speaking,” Rudy begs off, but his guests are insistent.

  Finally, he gives in. “Okay, okay! Where to start? Let’s see. As some of you know, it’s now almost six years since Rita died.…”

  Rudy’s voice has gone all soft and gravelly. Woody, too, is suddenly finding great interest in his boots.

  “I just knew I had to make a change. All my life, I’d worked nine to five at the auto supply store, and I had some good years there, Mikey,” he says, nodding toward a chipmunk-cheeked man stuffing a piece of birthday cake in his mouth. “But I needed to start over. I always liked cooking. Rita used to say I wore the apron in the family. So I thought, Why not? I needed the company bad. This place saved my life.”

  The room is suddenly very quiet. Miguel glances over at Tía Lola, who is wiping tears from her eyes. When she is done with her handkerchief, she hands it over to Mami, who dabs her eyes and passes it on to Carmen, who is blinking back tears. Miguel can’t believe his rough-and-ready baseball coach would be so sappy. But then, Rudy is the first to say that a strong man shouldn’t be afraid of his own feelings.

  “Not only did I make it through those hard times,” Rudy continues, “but I’ve had a heck of a good time. Only one thing hasn’t been quite to my liking.…”

  Rudy pauses for effect, but the twinkle in his eye suggests that whatever dissatisfaction he’s going to confess won’t be anything major. “I’ve never liked the name Rudy’s.” When a bunch of folks protest that they love the name, Rudy holds up his hands. “I’ve already decided. Listen up. I’m naming the place after you—that’s right. You guys got me through, and that includes some new friends, now not so new.” Rudy looks over at Mami and Tía Lola, who bow their heads modestly at the compliment they see coming.

  “These two lovely ladies have taught me a bunch of recipes, and also a whole lot about friendship. So I thought Amigos Café would be a great name, to thank them and you and to remind us all of our warm southern neighbors, especially during these cold winter months!”

  Everyone hoots and claps. After the noise dies down, old Colonel Charlebois bangs his cane on the floor to get everyone’s attention.

  “I would like to propose a toast!” he says, holding up his water glass. “To Rudy, who has created a gathering place for this town and given some of us who hadn’t had a taste of home cooking in a long time the opportunity to eat well and gain back some lost p
ounds. But best of all has been the chance to renew old friendships and make some new ones. Hear! Hear!”

  By the time the party is over, even Papi, who thought Mami was depriving his kids by moving them out of New York City, is a convert. “I can see why you love this place,” he admits as they walk to the car.

  “It’s a great place to live!” Carmen echoes.

  “That’s because we’re with the people we love,” Juanita speaks up. It’s some old lesson Tía Lola once taught them.

  “Except for Papi,” Miguel reminds her.

  His father reaches over and ruffles Miguel’s hair fondly, stirring up a little halo of snowflakes. Appropriate for a boy whose middle name is Ángel.

  The next morning, Papi shows up all by himself. “Let’s just us three go for breakfast together. We’ll swing by and pick up Carmen at the B&B on our way back. Sound good?”

  Juanita is disappointed. “Why can’t Carmen come, too?”

  “Because it’s just going to be our family, right, Papi?” Miguel looks up hopefully at his father. But instead of the fond smile of last night, Papi winces as if he’s in pain.

  “Families grow, families change,” Papi says quietly. It sounds like another of Tía Lola’s sayings.

  And that’s what he wants to talk about once they have sat down at the diner and the waitress has taken their order. They would have gone to Rudy’s, but the restaurant will be closed for a whole week for a remodeling to go with the new name. Stargazer, who owns a local gift shop, and some of her artist friends will be painting murals on the inside walls—tropical jungle scenes that will make Señor Burro and Mr. Flamingo and the palm tree feel right at home. It was announced last night at the party.

  “I learned a lot from being married to your mother,” Papi begins. He is folding and refolding his napkin like it’s some origami project the waitress gave him to do while he’s waiting for his breakfast. “What can I say? We were kids when we got married. I, especially, had a lot of growing up to do. Too caught up with my own career as an artist, which wasn’t getting off the ground. I was depressed. I admit I wasn’t the best husband.”