Miguel

I have a friend who is Mexican. He immigrated (legally) to the States years ago. He is living the "American dream" that most immigrants probably have in mind when they leave their homeland and come to this country.

He owns a thriving restaurant in town. It is a family operation--his wife, children, and their spouses all work there as well. He owns a nice home, a beautiful farm, and several late-model vehicles. He works constantly, either at the restaurant or his farm, and everything he owns is neat, clean, and generally well-done.

He is a shrewd businessman. I have sold him a couple of properties over the last few years. He is one of those rare individuals that can take a piece of raw land and transform it into a "showplace" that is worth much more than what he paid for it.

In spite of his success, he is confronted with American-style racism on a daily basis.

He takes it all in stride--laughs it off with a good-natured optimism. I admire this, as I would not if I were in his situation.

I have heard the whispered comments about him. "He probably is involved with the drug trade--nobody can do that well with a restaurant." This in spite of the fact that one can hardly ever get a table in his place without a wait. It is usually the well-heeled who make this comment. I always respond "that's funny you should say that, because that's what people say about you." That at least gives them something to think about.

Other times it is more blatant. Like the time he stopped at a marina to buy a new boat. It was noon, and the proprietor was out to lunch. Someone called the police because there was a Mexican prowling the lot. It took about thirty minutes of explanation and paperwork to avoid a trip to jail on that occasion.

As I said, he laughs all this off. I once showed him a nice farm that had an old farm-house on the property. I explained that the house was a "life estate", which meant that the current occupant, an old man, had the right to live in the house until he died. At his death, ownership of the house would revert to the buyer of the property. His farm manager said something to him in Spanish, and they both laughed. When I asked what was so funny, he said "my friend say that maybe we shouldn't buy this one. If something happen to the old man, they say the Mexicans did it."

Then there was the time he bought a nice farm in a neighboring county. He was out along the road with some workers, supervising the installation of a new fence. One of his new neighbors pulled up in a car and rolled the window down. She asked "Where's your boss?" He played along. "He's not here, how can I help you?" She said, "I might be interested in selling him my property to go along with what he's bought here." He said, "How much do you want for it?" She said "YOU couldn't afford it." He laughed. "Well tell me what you want for it, I might surprise you." She snapped, "Just tell your boss man to call me," and sped away. He had me call her for the price. I resisted the urge to tell her what a fool she was.

He could be angry and bitter from all this. Years of hard work and sacrifice dismissed because of his appearance. Instead, he laughs--all the way to the bank.