Never confuse the two

It's hard to imagine that I have allowed so much time to lapse before putting something out here to keep my faithful readers enticed and returning. Writing is serious business indeed! This week I hope to put some memoir pieces out here that I have struggled to write. I've no idea who will read these (well, I know one person who will). The personal disclosure scares me. We all have insecurities. In elementary school a classmate told me once that I looked Jewish. Imagine that! A scrawny, curly haired Puerto Rican from the South Bronx confused with a Goldberg or Feinstein. I was thrilled. Why? Simple. I didn't want to be Hispanic. To be Hispanic meant that I was related in some way to these loud, party loving, vociferous, hot-blooded and volatile "Ricans" that dominated my South Bronx neighborhood. Hell, I wanted to get away from them as quickly as possible. So, the thought of being perceived of as being Jewish, well, that was certainly something I could live with. That meant I was related to Moses, right? Cool beans.

Stay tuned! There's more to come. I promise. It may be that as I unfold more of myself to you and learn to release my identity and fears of disclosure that I will be closer to freedom. Sometimes I confuse who I am with what I do. Our culture does that to us you know.

"Hello, nice to meet you ... my name is Reinaldo ..."
"Oh, pleased to meet you, Reinaldo, name's Walter"
"Hi, Walter, great party, eh?"
"Yeah, man, its been a while since I got out."
"So, Reinaldo ... uh ... what do you do?"

The question is never "Who are you?" that would be asking too much, right? But instead we ask about vocation, assuming that that defines who we are. Not.

Hey, here's something for you. Next time you get introduced to someone, I dare you to ask them, "So, who are you?" I promise you'll get a grin and a quick, "Uh, excuse me?" Ha!

Rei