SPANISH AYES!

Every Sunday like clockwork, TLW (The Little Woman) and I go to breakfast at a usual dinner in Ronkonkoma. We are the usual first customers, and from rote will choose our customary booth, and ask for our customary orders of eggs. The diner has a usual waitress and also a special lady. She is not a waitress, but assist in ways such as getting us glasses of water, bringing us more coffee and does odds and ends around the place. She is a woman in her 40's I'm guessing. We don't know her name but she is very sweet and friendly, and with her smile comes her Hispanic accent that only colors her being to a glorious glow.

Each Sunday she comes over to say hello and we chat usually about the weather and how we feel about it. Gradually we have gotten to know her and enjoy talking to her. Being a poor immigrant who works for very little and has to share the tips from the Waitress, there is very little she is making. Being up at that hour and the menial tasks she has convinced me she is poor and working hard. At Christmas, I slip her a $20 bill to let her know she is indeed special and her service is appreciated.

I have always respected hard work, coming from a blue-collar family myself. I know how hard it was for Mom and Dad to pinch two nickels together, to stretch a food budget and to worry about paying bills while feeding a bunch of kids.

When I was old enough to work at 16, in my many menial jobs, I contributed to the household, and I was happy to be considered worthy of doing that. I tagged along with Dad when he got side-jobs and sometimes I was paid and sometimes I wasn't. But if it made it easy for Dad, then I was helping no matter how small it was.

When we moved from Brooklyn to Hagerman, we lived in a small house and eventually moved into something more substantial, and this move made Mom happy! I got a job in a supermarket and bought her a new vacuum cleaner and eventually, I paid for the living room furniture, furniture I wasn't allowed to sit on, after all: "we now have nice things!"

So, when I see this lady in the diner, I remember to make a fuss over her, to greet her first and to thank her last. She comes from San Salvador and helps make my breakfast a little special. We do a little Spanish and she laughs at me, and when she speaks, her English is better than my Spanish, but it is a wonderfully beautiful sound that makes my Sunday shine, no matter what the weather.

I hope she can raise her family in peace, that God will give her the blessing of what we all take for granted and that she can rise out the humdrum of poverty.