I’ve noticed there aren’t many thanks being thrown around Uncle Marcos’ home.  Everybody has their chores, and they’re expected of you, as part of the Concepcion family.  I, on the other hand, am used to saying thank-you a lot– perhaps far too much.  I mumble it like the repetitive mantra of a guilt-ridden bum who is clearly doing nothing to share the family burden.

Today I came back from an 1:20 run: dehydrated, tired, and hungry.  As I walk in the door, Uncle Marcos comes up to me and says “what are you doing in a few minutes”?  Fuck!  I know this is a trick question.  He clearly knows my schedule is as open as a four-lane highway on Christmas morning.  Anything I answer will be used against me, and it will likely involve some family task– some man chore for which I am clearly unsuited for.  I look around nervously, trying to say something exonerating.  The only excuse I can come up with involves RSI, and as soon as the words start coming out of my mouth, Yano says “don’t even try to be funny– what he means Uncle, is that he’ll be right there”.  At a loss for words, I give up, while Yanory giggles, and I suit up in borrowed work clothes that are 5 sizes too small (Yano’s the tall one in the family).

So off we go– all four men, well 3 and a half, to cut a big tree.  By the time I get there 5 minutes late, the tree is felled and partially chopped.  I quickly notice there is a hierarchy of work.  The motorized equipment is clearly for the older men, while the children are raking leaves and picking up branches.  I’m not even allowed to comment– “go with Aaron and help him with the leaves”.  My scrawny uncalloused hands hint of no manual labor in the past 15 years, so it’s a no brainer the uncle.

Aaron says “do you want to rake or pick up?”.  This is definitely a trick question.  If I choose pick up, I’m obviously a wuss.  If I pick rake and am incompetent, I’ll be laughed at.  Trying to be manly (as manly as one can be picking leaves with an 8 year old) I pick rake.  Aaron let me rake for about 2 minutes, and then yanked the rake from my hands.  “You pick.  I’ll rake.  We’ll be done faster”.

After two hours, I’m already moving up the work chain, and am holding something that looks like a girl’s machete– something larger than a chef’s knife, but obviously less than the Samurai sword the uncle wields.

Tree cutting is as boring as it sounds, and is a lot more tedious.  The logs are HEAVY and it doesn’t help that 8 year old kids can carry logs twice as big as you.  I, on the other hand, have to roll them by kicking them ever so slowly.

To make matters worse, our white fat bastard of a master comes by every 10-15 minutes and makes some nonsensical suggestion like “why don’t you put the log over here” or “can’t you cut it lengthwise?”.  He drops by and picks up some random tool and shakes it like he’s actually doing something besides injuring himself.  Every time he gives an order I try to explain how I’m doing this because I want to, that I’m actually on vacation– but I know I’ll only be whipped or something, so I just turn my head down.

This is how most of today went.  Running 8 miles, drinking a coke, eating as much as humanly possible, and going out to the field… to bear the brunt of ridicule from pre-pubescent children while I dreamt of beds, air conditioner, and doughnuts.

After the tree was over and done with, white fast bastard comes back and decides he wants us to cut down another tree.  By then I notice he’s just giving orders to watch us work.  Luckily, the next tree is a small one.  We pile up all the branches, and stand up the logs by another tree.  Right when I’m about to pass out, Marcos says “I just talked to the owner, he’s going to let us keep the logs.  Let’s put them on the pick-up truck and take them to grandma’s, it’ll save her a bundle on cooking gas”.  You gotta be shitting me?  I’ll pay for the fucking gas; just let me lie down like the pansy that I am.  Take me back with the women: let me bake, clean, and take care of 107 year old great-great-uncle Manuel.  Heck, I’ll wipe his butt; I don’t care.

Luckily Yano was waiting for me to buy bus tickets to Costa Rica, so I was allowed to go while the men did other manly chores.  I’m sure they were glad to see me go so they could unleash the full force of their laughter.

Whatever, I think it’s time to cross the border.

p.s. Pictures have been uploaded here.