My kids just cringed. Their dad’s new habit of greeting any suspected person of Latino heritage with a hearty HOLA! even if they are possibly Greek or Italian drives them crazy. They mentally will the ground to open up and swallow them whole thanks to unbearable embarrassment.
“What’s wrong with that? Why can’t I greet someone in Spanish?” he continually retorts.
When we’re in the northwoods and drive through an Indian reservation, he starts looking up the Ojibwe word for hello. They die slowly, those kids.
But back to Spanish…I think he’s a little obsessed because we’re all caught up on Narcos on Netflix, and the dude actually rooted for Pablo Escobar to come out ok, despite the terror he wreaked on millions of people in both the United States and in Columbia leading to his ultimate rooftop demise. Kudos to the producers of that show for casting a sympathetic character, at least in the eyes of one middle aged man in Illinois. So while he practices Spanish, I make Pico de Gallo with the 15 pounds of tomatoes I bought.