This is a story my dad told me.
My dad grew up in a poor family in Mexico. Often times he doesn't eat because they don't have money. On the rare occasion his family does have money, there is no food to go around. He doesn't go to school because his father doesn't think it's worth it. Not even for the girls. Everyone works.
When he grows up, he goes to Texas to look for work. It's a strange new place. All the white guys there speak Spanish. Better Spanish than him, even. He finds a guy to work for, but he doesn't know how to do anything. The farmer wants him to drive the tractor around. My father doesn't know how, but he gets on anyway. He gradually teaches himself how to drive it. He also does several little odd jobs. He learns some carpentry, he learns to paint, he learns a lot of things. He starts a family.
Years pass, and he moves to Washington because he hears there's good work. He arrives, and there are almost no Mexicans there; maybe 4 other families. None of the Mexican workers speak English, and none of the locals speak Spanish. Everyone is crazy racist towards him. He goes and looks for work cultivating potatoes. He finds some asshole farmer to work for who calls him names like dirty Mexican, and just treats him like shit. They can't communicate all that well, but the farmer makes the signal for my father to go drive the tractor. The farmer is surprised he knows how to drive it. His experience in Texas comes in handy.
Two years pass of living and working in Washington. Just by walking around town and listening to people, he learns English pretty well. Proper English, not vulgar asshole farmer English. One day the farmer wants his potatoes cultivated, so he tells my dad:
"Get your ass on the tractor."
My dad responds with, "Hey, I'm not gonna take shit from you or anyone else."
The farmer is surprised, "Oh! You speak English?"
"Yes, you taught me."
"Anyway, get your ass on the tractor."
My dad is tired of this guy, so he quits. It sucks for the farmer, because my dad is the only one around who knows how to drive a tractor. He's also the only one who knows how to extract potatoes. A few weeks pass by and the farmer still hasn't found anyone to drive his tractor. My dad has already found work somewhere else.
A few months later, my dad passes by this guy's farm again. He sees the farmer has finally found someone to work for him. A guy and his wife are extracting potatoes. Except they're doing it all wrong. Chopped up pieces of potato everywhere. Serves the farmer right, my dad thinks.
Years later, he's got a family of about 6 total. He hears about work in bean fields in Oregon. He loads up his family, and travels to a small farming town. They get into town, and it's raining. All the time. Rain forever. They check into a hotel and get a room. My dad then goes off to look for work in the morning. It turns out a lot of other people had the same idea as my dad. Mexican workers everywhere!
He meets up with a farmer that has a good 15 to 20 acres of beans growing. My dad is one of about 50 people working the fields. My half-brother at 11 years old is another. It's still raining by the way. All day, everyday. Fields of beans and rain. Once all the work is done, he goes into town and gets his pay. 5 cents a pound is the going rate. He got about $2.50; not very much, even in those times. He still needs to pay the hotel owner. Instead of taking his family to a restaurant for a hot meal, his wife buys a loaf of bread and some pieces of ham. She makes a few sandwiches and everyone eats them in the car. That is their restaurant.
Dad goes back to the hotel and runs into the hotel owner. The hotel owner asks, "Oh, you're not working today?"
"No, it's all over."
"Oh, that's too bad. All these workers around and no work to go around for them. Me for instance, I need a huge section of my hotel painted. Except the painters I hire cost far too much money."
"I know how to paint. I can paint your hotel for you."
"You know how to paint? I got buckets of paint and brushes you can use. I'll get you a ladder, too."
My dad started at about 11am and by 5pm he was completely finished painting. The hotel owner is impressed, "Wow! It looks good."
"You like it?"
"Yeah, you did a good job. That money you owe me for the room, forget about it. You can stay as long as you want, no charge."
"Thank you! I had no money to pay you with anyway."
"I know."
P.S. I'm moving to Poitiers (pwuh-tee-yay) in 2 days. I spent my last day home packing my bags, having dinner with the family, and watching a very pretty documentary.
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