Who are those white people?

What can I say about San Diego that isn’t a tired old cliché?  Certainly nothing about the perfect weather, abundant palm trees, beautiful women and sandy beaches.  Those are old news.  Something that was new to me was meeting a few dozen relatives I’d previously only heard brief mentions of—and some I’d never known existed.

I’ve got a crazy, huge Mexican-American family down in southern California.  I felt like I stuck out a bit at the reunion for a couple of reasons: I don’t drink much, and I’m white.  Well, whiter than most of my California cousins, anyhow.  That’s what happens when your dad marries a woman with Irish blood.  Thanks, Mom.  At least I’m not as pasty as my sister.  Though I wouldn’t mind having a tan like my cousins.

My family had trouble blending in at the start of the get-together.  As the five of us walked up to my cousin’s front yard in Chula Vista, home base for the reunion, a group of dark-haired young girls stood leaning over the fence, peering at us.  Even my dad is fairly light skinned, because of the mix of German and Norwegian that blend with his Mexican roots.  “Are you my cousins?”  I asked the girls.  An unhesitant “no” was the response.  I just laughed.  I knew they were probably second cousins once or twice removed, because of their age and the fact that they were wearing the reunion T-shirts.  A short time later, my dad heard one of them ask their parents, “Who are those white people?”

We went around to the back of the house, where the music was playing, fish tacos were being served, tequila and beer were flowing, and probably 40 distant relatives were getting reacquainted.  I grabbed some tacos and beer, but stayed away from the tequila because vomiting has never been something I’ve particularly enjoyed.  My dad took me, my brother and sister and my mom around the yard, stopping every couple of feet to introduce us to new relatives.

I was told by several people that I look like two relatives who weren’t there: a late second cousin who had shaggy hair and a beard (I think it’s the face shape and the beard), and a second cousin who lives in Canada and happens to be a fellow cue ball.  Frankly, I’m offended that some folks look at bald guys and say, “All you people look alike.”  My response is, “What do you mean, ‘you people?’”

I gravitated toward the relatives I’d met on prior trips to San Diego, and the ones I’d befriended on Facebook before the reunion.  But I also spent time chatting with some of the previously unknown relatives.  I tried to meet as many as I could, but it was a bit overwhelming, so most of the meetings consisted of little more than an introduction.  I could only focus on really getting to know a few.  Hopefully I’ll get to know some of the others better the next time I go San Diego.

One of the new relatives I did get to know was my second cousin, Bobby.  He offered to take my brother and me surfing the next morning.  And I think that experience deserves its own blog post.