Aqui Tiene Su Casa

At least half of the people in the town where I grew up were Mexicans, i.e., if not directly from Mexico, they were first generation Americans of one hundred percent Mexican descent. I learned to speak what was called Chicano Spanish. This was different from so called “Spanglish” in which people (perhaps more so on the east coast?) would adulterate English and Spanish. Chicano Spanish was a curious mix of Spanish and English, often using an English word with a distinctly Spanish emphasis. For example: we’d say, “Pone’ las brock-ess” for, “Put on the brakes.” This wasn’t just me trying to speak Spanish, this is the way my Chicano buddies would speak. Such language was a clear blend of their heritage, being born in the states of Spanish-speaking, Mexican parents. They called me, “El Chicano Blanco,” an affectionate title I took pride in as I felt it meant I was one of them.

Our next door neighbor however, was a proud, elder Mexican who had been born and raised in old Mexico. While a lot of the Chicanos that I hung with would eschew their Mexican heritage, this gentleman held pride in his heritage. Alberto taught me much of his classic, honorable Mexican traditions that I came to admire. I was a mere white kid from next door but he treated me with a respect that, at that young age, I rarely was offered by any adult.

This poem is a fictional tribute to my viejo amigo, Alberto Campos.

Aqui' Tiene Su Casa

I once met a weathered Mexican
Who was an old-school vaquero
His tired eyes held a bright sparkle
Warm 'neath his fancy sombrero

Two strangers in a cantina
On a sweaty El Paso day
One of us heading to the north
One going the opposite way

His boots had run down old  stacked heels
The uppers were stirrup-worn some
The viejo's hands were all scarred
I saw he had a dally thumb

The old man was shy a few teeth
I seen as he grinned once at me
We swapped ourselves cowboyin' yarns
Some true and some not yet to be

He helped me pass the time along
While we sipped our cervezas cold
Munchin' chorizo and frijoles
Plate mopping a tortilla fold

"Yo soy Alberto Campos."
He offered his name at the end
"You can call me Ricky," I said
"It's mighty good meetin' ya friend."

He rose with, "Adios amigo.
Y vaya con Dios Senor
I hope we meet again one day
So you’ll come see me por favor"

"Here’s a sincere invitation
Ever you're down Rosales way,
Por favor come see me for sure.
You will have a dry place to stay."

I did go see him two years later
I’d gone south to fetch a new horse
So finding myself near again
I brought him a six pack of course

Inquiring in Rosales
I got directions to his place
A humble two-room Adobe
The viejo greeted me with grace

"You may not remember me,"
I said softly to the man
"Seguro que si, Billy,
Remember you I can."

"Por favor come in Senor
Meet Maria my bride
Aqui tiene su casa amigo
It's our bienvenido con pride.

I understood enough Spanish
To translate what he'd spoken
"Here is your home" he meant
He touched me by this token

For I was a mere stranger
We'd shared an hour long ago
Now I was offered his home
Mexican warmth soothing to know

It reminded me of 'light and set'
An old hospitality camp greeting
Offered to a total stranger
When comin across a chance meeting

I think our world would be better
If we’re all so hospitable
It's a thing I'm gonna work on
Cuz kindness is transmittable

by Rik "Yonder" Goodell
© 2025 All rights reserved

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