Hable Child of Immigrants?

Picture this…I’m standing on a downtown Los Angeles street impatiently awaiting my friend, who’s ½ hour late picking me up. A man, who appears to be in his 40’s approaches me, carrying a small white piece of paper in his hand. He asks me something in Spanish and I clumsily answer, “No hable Espanol.”

He seems a bit frantic and repeats his question in Spanish to others on the street, and within seconds, he finds someone who speaks his language.

From what I could gather, he needed help dialing a number to reach someone who’s supposed to pick him up at the same place.

We stand a few feet apart staring in the same direction and he tries again to engage me in conversation. Somehow we communicate, with me telling him the few words I know in Spanish and with him telling me that he is from Mexico and then with pride he shares, “Jaqueline – daughter – born U.S.A.”

His ride pulls up before mine.

“Adios,” I yell.

“Goodbye. Goodbye,” he says.