Malas palabras

When I was a little girl, during our stays in Guadalajara, I would get desperately bored at my Mama Luz’s house. When my primitos would come over, we’d make up games, tease each other and beg for pesos from our tíos. But as soon as they left, the hours dragged out. So if the opportunity presented itself, I’d volunteer to go down to the corner store to redeem the glass Coke bottles.

I loved hearing the glass bottles clink as we walked to the tiendita. I would scan the colorful houses, hoping to spot the dogs barking from the rooftops. Even after almost 30 years, if I close my eyes, I can perfectly imagine the lively sounds and smells of the barrio de Independencia.

Once, while walking with my Dad, we passed a vendor, and I fell in love with the cutest white stuffed bear. He had a poofy chef’s hat, a loaf of bread tucked under one arm and flirty eyelashes. On his little apron was printed “con el cariño de siempre.” My dad offered to buy it for me, but only on one condition: I couldn’t share his name with any of my American friends.

The little bear was the mascot for Pan Bimbo, a Mexican bread and dessert company. My dad explained that bimbo was a bad word in English.

The complexities of growing up in two languages have continued to fascinate me. Although my Dad was hesitant in my early years to teach me Spanish because he was concerned I’d be discriminated against like he was when he arrived, the immersion of my childhood blessed me with its influence. Because my parents divorced when I was young, I split my time in an English-speaking household and a Spanish-speaking one.

Since then, my linguistic journey has been a continuous unraveling as I sort out the actual meanings of words from what my young mind had guessed based on context and tone.

”Did you see her? She was having a telele in front of everyone! ”

Lately, one of my most-used Spanish words, for the fun way it rolls off the tongue, is telele. I always used it to describe someone having a temper tantrum. However, when I looked it up online, I found it can also mean a fainting spell or a nervous breakdown, to be shocked or overwhelmed.

Confused, I looked up a word that I thought was similar in definition. It took me a couple of tries to even figure out how to spell atarantado. I once had a boss who loved to walk into the office with a dozen ideas and tasks for us to complete, and I remember laughing out loud when my coworker said “¡Este muchachita me tiene atarantado!”

At the time I thought it meant dizzy but apparently it can also mean stunned, dazed, bewildered, confused, or even drunk.

In elementary school, my friends always wanted me to teach them “bad” words in Spanish. They were disappointed when I didn’t know any, since my family didn’t curse. However, they had other ways to express their preferences. If someone in my family didn’t like someone, they might call someone gaucho or desgraciado. I still don’t know the direct translations but I know I wouldn’t want to be called either.

Or if someone or something rubbed you the wrong way you might hear: me cae gordo. I never thought much of the expression until I really considered the literal translation which is: it falls fat on me. I’m sure there has to be a back story to that saying and if anyone knows it please share it with me.

The dirtiest words I grew up with were guácala and fuchi. The best part about these words is that if what you are describing is absolutely repulsive, you can make the word longer for emphasis. Guácatela or fúchila.

You’ll be glad to know that I kept my promise to my Dad and when my friends would come over I’d hide my bear, Bimbo in my closet. As a matter of fact I kept most of my experiences in Guadalajara from my friends at school, I just wasn’t sure if they would understand.