How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents by DeLaCruz

Boring

I thought the author would be much like me --

Upon an em’rald island born and bred --

I might have liked her but, to my great dread,

She filled the book with words I could not be.

Sofia, Sandra, Yoyo are just three

Of four perplexing characters I read,

Whose constant whining seemed to fill my head

With nauseating prose like poetry.

I’m feeling sad and just a little mean

That as I gave this lauded book a try

It was unable to induce my cheers.

I finished up the novel just to glean

Some small remembrances of days gone by:

Nostalgic glimpses of my childhood years.

Sonnets are hard. This took me like an hour. I did not like the book, but this class goes beyond “like” and “don’t like.” We have to be more specific. This poem speaks to why I chose the book, why I didn’t like the book (it was about a bunch of whiny girls), and what I tried to get out of it.

Trujillo

Trujillo was the dictator when my father was a boy.

He never pops up much when Papi shares his joy

Of growing up barefoot, running, and making trouble--

He and his little brother made trouble double.

He never talks of being scared and running from secret police.

He just smiles and grins, remembering how he got his piece

Of revenge on a neighborhood kid who teased him too much.

He talks of pranks, loves, losses, and such.

On America and its President Bush, Dad has little to say.

He sits on the couch playing with his nietas all day,

Or at least until its time for us to leave him alone.

Alone with memories he chews like a bone.

I learned more about Trujillo, the Dominican dictator, from this book. I didn’t learn much; he’s just an ominous presence in the background. Now I want to ask my dad about him.

Americano?

I like Hip-hop. I like Soul.

I like Swing Dancing and Rock ‘n’ Roll.

I don’t like the Beatles but they ain’t American anyway.

Elvis? Elvis is dead.

My Spanish isn’t much better than that of many gringos.

I love Merengue. I love Salsa.

But I know less than ten artists who sing each style.

I love Arroz, Yucca, Platanos, Mango, Quenepas, Guayaba.

And Pizza, Burgers, Lasagna, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie.

And Shawerma, Hummus, Sushi, Tacos, Marmite.

I changed my name. It should be de la Cruz not DeLaCruz.

Like Yoyo and Joe-Joe.

Americano? What do you think?

In part, How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accent is about identity and how it is shaped. Although I thought the book melodramatic and overly touchy-feely, I still connected with many of the experiences the girls had. I just didn’t dig the writing style and the way Alvarez told the story.