Little Eyes

I wonder, as I wander about town with my granddaughter’s hand in mine, what does she see? How does a two and a half year old see Mexico? What captures her attention?

The street:

Dirt and dust and rocks—A vast playground to be explored. “No, don’t touch, it’s dirty. Muy sucio.” Words she hears too often. Chickens and roosters pecking for scraps – she watches rapt and wide eyed – a whole world of entertainment in the middle of the road.

The pool:

Her very own gigantic tub of water to splash in, to practice swimming, and to blow bubbles. “Look me, Grandma. Grandma! Turn your head. Look me.”

The ocean:

An even bigger tub that she won’t quite venture into, but aren’t the dogs fun to watch as they chase the birds and each other up and down the beach? Maybe if I run fast enough, I can catch them, she seems to say as she races across the sand.

The sky:

A full moon to point out between the trees, flocks soaring high above. “Look at all the birds!”  And don’t forget the butterflies and bees and bats. And then there are the fireworks. Pretty, but loud. “I scared, Grandpa.” And the next night, “I want to see fireworks.”

The food:

Tortillas, jicama, mangoes and guavas, sweet juicy cucumbers, and ceviche are just a few of her favorites, but, “I want pasta.” And Mom brings out the Kraft Dinner.

The people:

“Do you want cereal?”

“No,” mini broom and dust pan in hand, “I’m cleaning with Doña Felipa.”

“Who’s that?”

“Lupita!” and arms open wide for a hug.

Then there’s Abigail to play with, Patty and Felipe to walk on the beach with, Hiro and his friends to play street soccer with, and best of all, with squeals of delight, she greets Papa.

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