A Brief History of Anachronism

He is the Loch Ness monster and the Yeti and La Chupacabra all rolled up in a pint-sized brown man. He has silenced entire rooms effortlessly and caused panic attacks in many a teenage girl. He is the kidn of character that should become standard, unnoticed, but somehow constantly elicits awe.

He is the whistle man.

If you’re prone to cynicism or factual analysis, the whistle man is like a Central American neighborhood watch mercenary. He patrols the streets of Santa Ana in a bullet-proof vest and sandals, blowing a whistle and brandishing a machete in an attempt to ward off thieves and vagrants. He’s probably an insomniac with a day job, moon-lighting to feed his nasty living indoors habit. In all likelihood, he was never trained in the military, police force, or toddle Tae Kwon Do. Really, there should be nothing special about him.

Yet, we sit here on smelly, flimsy beds in the middle of the night, listening. I’m a chaperone and a role model; I should be far above this. No, I shouldn’t. The whistle man is mythic in every generation and life stage.  We’re having hushed, flippant conversations, waiting for the screech, waiting to sneak another glance at the legend .

Each year handles him differently.  When no one knew who he was or what he did, we panicked. We tried to call nueve-uno-uno, fueled by 90s horror film anxiety. Ghostface would call your house; Salvadorian serial killers would probably just whistle.

When we learned he was a force of good the next year, some tried to engage him. They would pop their heads between the window bars, offering an over-exuberant “HOLA!”. The white of their skin in the dark made them fantasmic, though, and someone almost lost a limb. A strong lecture followed.

Transitions continued. Some ignored him, some whistled back. An overly ambitious group set a trap for him, only to be thwarted by faulty cameras. Now, we lie in wait just to observe. It’s vigil-like, voyeuristic and enchanted. We sit on the edges of beds in the hot, jonesing to see, to hear, to experience the second coming of the tin whistle savior. Thweet.

I’m just now understanding that everyone grows up, including sponsor children. And their madrinas. I’m sorry it took me 7 years to see you again. I’m sorry I don’t always write when I should and that I forget your birthday is in December, not March.  I’m sorry that my ability to speak Spanish is limited to business meetings and literature, forcing me to stumble through questions about your school and your family.

I’m sorry your mom felt the need to compliment my blue eyes several times over the course of our day at the museum.  I’m sorry I don’t like math or science, that I’m going to be una maestra de ingles. I’m sorry I relied so heavily  on the translator, and that I couldn’t make your neighbor’s baby stop crying at lunchtime when I held her.

I’m especially sorry that I wiped out in the Bubble Exhibit, but I’m glad it made you laugh.  And I’m sorry they forced you to spend the day with me at Tin Marin; you are not a nina, but a fine young man.

Para el futuro, I’m going to be better at this. I’m not just going to send in my check every month out of Catholic guilt. When people ask about the picture on my desk, I won’t just tell them how we met ( the phrase “ a badass from Esquipulas” may still occur; you remain different and the same.)

The next time I see you, I will ask about your sister in Tacuba and her son and your sister in Aguilares and her daughter.  I will bring pictures of mi amigo mejor y mi novio y mis padres so that you can better approve of them all in kind. The next time we meet, I will not hand you a small bag of singles and playing cards and rosaries and crucitas. I will know enough to pack a Messi jersey and a book of Neruda that you can use at your leisure.

El proximo tiempo te encuentro, no voy a necesitar una empleado de CFCA para transladar my half-assed sentences. I will stop being such a gringa, a blaca, a flake. I will speak fluently and beautifully.  The next time I’m there, nosotros vamos a entender a juntos.

So , I’m on the plane home, to the ciudad with my life and my job and my clean drinking water.  The plane is scary, you’re right, but it’s also exciting and boring and loud and quiet. And yes, estoy cansada, but for the first time in a while that is not bothering me. Ruben, I’m proud of the man you’ve become, empathetic and motivated and I know I have little to do with any of that. I hope you’ll always be un tio bueno y, mas importante, un hombre bueno.  I hope we do meet again, and that I’ll hold to my end of the deal. Mostly, I just wanted to let you know that I’m gonna try hard not to forget you in the day to day, and that I hope you are busy and joyful enough to forget about me.

Vaya con Dios,