I packed mostly black and white clothes in preparation for my semester in Granada, Spain with the intent of having a more versatile, practical wardrobe. To my delight, I arrived in Granada to find narrow, cobble-stoned streets swarming with chic European women clad in black strappy heels and crisp, white blouses.
But fitting in here in Spain isn´t quite as simple as black and white: my blonde hair screams "outsider" almost as much as tourists sporting white Nike tennis shoes and colorful backpacks. But my appearance isn´t the only thing that sets me apart here: some of my beliefs are like night and day in comparison to those of my European classmates.
Last week, my language class broke into a heated discussion about gender roles and the differences among males and females. Many European cultures are traditionally¨"machismo", which means boys are raised to become¨"strong" men who believe crying is a sign of weakness and that cooking and cleaning is a woman´s job only.
It was no surprise, then, when a Greek young man in my class said he would never get a girlfriend if he acted sensitive and emotional. I couldn´t help but challenge his belief, so I asked him in Spanish: "Do Greek girls no like men who are sensitive and honest?¨" Well, I asked for it, and he gave it right back to me with a sneer: "Would you rather date a guy who´s emotional and weak, or one who´s strong?"
His words felt like a whip, and my cheeks started to burn out of embarrassment. But something else happened- right then and there I felt my desire to be a European girl slip out of my fingers like wet soap. "I think it´s about balance," I said, as my voice rose and my speech became more rapid: "Why do you have to choose between the two?" My Greek amigo shot me a nasty look and rolled his eyes, but this time it didn´t shake me. This time, standing up for what I believed trumped my better judgement to remain silent out of cultural sensitivity.
I feel strongly that the connection between heart and mind, emotion and intellect, is a vital aspect of being human- male and female. In a black and white world, women might only be sensitive and men might only be strong. But since our brains are grey matter, we can have a mix of both and it doesn´t make us any less male or any less female.
That day, I walked out of class with a little extra bounce in my step. And the next morning, as I scoured my closet in search of something to wear, I decided against my favorite monochrome outfit and reached for a red and blue sweater instead. And just for good measure, I wrapped a grey scarf around my neck before heading out the door.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Almuneca (a day at the beach)
On Saturday, I went with about 12 other students from my program to the beach, which is only an hour away by bus. We left in the morning and spent the day at a beautiful beach with little island-cliffs to our left and mountains to our right. The best part was that we rented reclining chairs with cushions on them under these cute little umbrellas that look like those hats Asian people in the rice fields wear (that's really the only way to describe them). Anyways, I got to take a nap in the shade, and swim around in the refreshing water while getting to know some of the people in my program. So far, I like everyone: it's funny because Tim and I are the only ones from the West Coast. Most people are either from Chicago or Wisconsin or New York. It's so entertaining to listen to their accents- i just love it! And I love teasing them about it :) But they dish it right back at me, and claim that Tim and I have "West Coast accents" (whatever that means!) It was so much fun relaxing at the beach with new friends. And I can proudly say that I did NOT get burned after my horrible experience in France.
Tim was a riot: he brought our hot pink raft that the French man gave us in Nice, and he wore his little blue goggles from Italy. Needless to say, he was the subject of lots of teasing within our group. Tim is the master of flips and cliff jumping, and that day he earned two new nicknames: Shawn Johnson (like the gymnast) and Spider Monkey. He did me proud :) Sadly, he got a pretty bad sunburn, and his host mom laughed at him when he got home. The other day I met his host mom- she is a riot! In the kitchen she has pictures of her grown daughter on the wall, so I was asking her about them. All of a sudden, she goes, "Don't look at those pictures, look at these beautiful ones!" and points to her refrigirator, which is covered in photos of her three CATS! It's hilarious, she's obsessed with them! Apprarantly the refrigirator is the place where Spaniards display their most prized photographs :)
Tim was a riot: he brought our hot pink raft that the French man gave us in Nice, and he wore his little blue goggles from Italy. Needless to say, he was the subject of lots of teasing within our group. Tim is the master of flips and cliff jumping, and that day he earned two new nicknames: Shawn Johnson (like the gymnast) and Spider Monkey. He did me proud :) Sadly, he got a pretty bad sunburn, and his host mom laughed at him when he got home. The other day I met his host mom- she is a riot! In the kitchen she has pictures of her grown daughter on the wall, so I was asking her about them. All of a sudden, she goes, "Don't look at those pictures, look at these beautiful ones!" and points to her refrigirator, which is covered in photos of her three CATS! It's hilarious, she's obsessed with them! Apprarantly the refrigirator is the place where Spaniards display their most prized photographs :)
Running Urban Style
One of the hardest parts about living in Granada is that there aren't a whole lot of places to run in the city. What's more, I don't feel entirely comfortable running in the streets or the park by myself ( I also am horrible with directions). Tim, being the gentleman that he is, meets me before class in the morning to run, even though he lives on the other side of the city. There's a beautiful park a couple blocks away from my house called El Parque de Federico Garcia Lorca (a famous Spanish poet whose summer house was located in the park and is now a museum). The park is enclosed by high walls, and has dirt paths that go around the perimeter of the park. It's full of tall, Dr. Seuss-like trees, fountains, and touchy-feely high school sweethearts who sprawl out on the grass (it's actually a little awkward to run past them). There are usually lots of runners in the park, but almost all men. I don't understand this! If there are female runners, they never wear shorts, even though it's really hot here. As much as I want to blend in here, I absolutely, positively cannot bring myself to run in pants when it is hot- it's inhumane! Even though I get some odd stares, I'm sticking to my guns on this one.
The other day, Tim took me on a killer run that he discovered the day before. In Granada we are already at a high altitude because we're next to the Sierra Navada mountain range. But we upped the ante and "upped" a monster hill that was about a mile long and steep the whole way. At the top, I was coughing up who knows what from my burning lungs. It was a good workout. I also recently joined a gym that's about a five minute walk from my house. It's called "Gimnasio Palandium" and is tiny, but suffiecient. Sadly, I haven't had the chance to go because I've been sick with a cold and sinus infection. I'm going to the doctor today to get some antibiotics, so hopefully I'll be up and running again soon.
The other day, Tim took me on a killer run that he discovered the day before. In Granada we are already at a high altitude because we're next to the Sierra Navada mountain range. But we upped the ante and "upped" a monster hill that was about a mile long and steep the whole way. At the top, I was coughing up who knows what from my burning lungs. It was a good workout. I also recently joined a gym that's about a five minute walk from my house. It's called "Gimnasio Palandium" and is tiny, but suffiecient. Sadly, I haven't had the chance to go because I've been sick with a cold and sinus infection. I'm going to the doctor today to get some antibiotics, so hopefully I'll be up and running again soon.
where in the house is Carmen San Die--- i mean Gonzales
I love chatting with Carmen. She only speaks Spanish, and has that trademark Granada accent that is charming and incredibly frustrating at the same time. In Granada, people swallow the end of words, so instead of saying "Como estas?" you would say "Como esta?" And that's just the beginning... people talk so fast here, AND have a lisp.. it's a challenge to communicate sometimes! Luckily I've been able to understand Carmen for the most part, and we've had some great conversations sitting at the dining room table. She's hosted students for 13 years now (only girls) so she is very patient with me as I stumble along through conjugations and hand motions and visits to my Spanish-English dictionary (what would I do without it?) I'll watch the celebrity gossip shows with her (Spanish equivalent to Entertainment Tonight), and we'll chat about our favorite movie stars and musicians. Carmen has quite an eclectic taste in music: she loves Whitney Houston, Frank Sinatra, and Bob Marley. But most of all, she loves opera- she even took a trip to New York a few years back and went to see Phantom of the Opera on Broadway.
We've had some deep discussions too. One morning I was reading my Spanish Bible at breakfast, and she asked me if I was Catholic. I told her that I am evangelical Christian, and she said she is technically Catholic but thinks the Church is very corrupt so she doesn't ever attend mass. We discussed religion for a while, but it was hard with my limited vocabulary. Even so, it was awesome to openly discuss issues of faith with Carmen. She said she believes all religions are basically the same: they are all paths that lead to the same God in the end. Politely, I told her that I disagree. She persisted: "Yes, they have differences, but they all believe in the same God". I shook my head "no": "sorry, I disagree." The phone rang, and as she answered her call I went back to reading my Bible. "You like reading that, don't you?" she said with a smile. This time, I shook my head "yes".
We've had some deep discussions too. One morning I was reading my Spanish Bible at breakfast, and she asked me if I was Catholic. I told her that I am evangelical Christian, and she said she is technically Catholic but thinks the Church is very corrupt so she doesn't ever attend mass. We discussed religion for a while, but it was hard with my limited vocabulary. Even so, it was awesome to openly discuss issues of faith with Carmen. She said she believes all religions are basically the same: they are all paths that lead to the same God in the end. Politely, I told her that I disagree. She persisted: "Yes, they have differences, but they all believe in the same God". I shook my head "no": "sorry, I disagree." The phone rang, and as she answered her call I went back to reading my Bible. "You like reading that, don't you?" she said with a smile. This time, I shook my head "yes".
Can you say "fried baby eel?"
The Spanish eating schedule is an enigma to me. Everyone knows that you're starving after a whole night of not eating, and need to rev up your engine with a hearty breakfast, right? Well in Spain, most people only eat a piece of toast and a cup of coffee to hold them over until 2 PM, when everyone goes home from school or work to eat the biggest meal of the day with their family. I'm somewhat of a rebel, if you will, because my host mom lets me pour my own cereal in the morning, which I take full advantage of. I'm like a little squirrel storing my food away for the long winter (aka 6 hours of fasting). We have this crazy-good chocolate cereal filled with actual chocolate, and delicious granola with dried fruit in it. Who knew eating dessert for breakfast could be so satisfying? At 2:30 we eat lunch; my host mom's an excellent cook, but she also must think we are squirrels hoarding food for the frosty winter, because she gives us gigantic portions. The other night she made us chicken lasagna AND bread AND giant baked potatoes AND apples... I don't like wasting food, but it's way too much! We try to tell her, but she always just tells us to eat more! I like most of the things she makes: lots of soups, delicious melon, pizza, tortilla espanol (potato, egg, and onion). But Spaniards eat a lot of fried food, which doesn't sit well with me. The other day Carmen brought out fried baby eel- you could actually see the little black eyes. Her and Paco said it was a delicacy, so of course I had to be polite and try it. As a rule, I usually don't eat anything with eyes- it was a big step for me :) Dinner (which isn't quite as big) is usually 9:30 PM, but it makes sense because most people go out with their friends around 10 or 10:30 PM to bars or the park or wherever.
On a Friday night, Tim and I decided to go for a walk around 11 PM. We went to a plaza which turns into the high school hang-out zone after dark. It was so much fun people watching, although I kind-of felt like I was spying. Wherever you are in the world, high schoolers are high schoolers. It was amusing to watch the girls dressed in their heels and short skirts greet the boys, and stand there in a circle with their friends. Tim and I suspected that it must be the their designated meeting place before heading to a discoteca (dance club) or bar (the drinking age is 16 here). The night before, we had taken a walk around midnight and sat down on a bench in a different plaza. There was literally a gang of about 25 cats sauntering around the plaza- it was crazy! Even crazier was the fact that there were still PEOPLE in the plaza... and kids playing on the playground! It's a different world here...
Another night we went out to Mexican food with a group from our program- the only thing missing was Mexicans (all the waiters and cooks were Spanish!) Maybe that's why it was so expensive. There was a group of Spaniards our age in the restaurant, who were saying behind our backs "F-ing tourists!" in Spanish.... I really don't know why some Spaniards hate Americans so much. We weren't being noisy or obnoxious, we were simply eating dinner. Sometimes it's hard to feel welcome in Granada, but it just gives me more motivation to learn Spanish, since I don't want to be viewed as an ignorant, monolingual tourist. But since I'm blonde, I'm always going to stick out here no matter what. It's odd to go from being the majority in Southern California where everyone is blonde, to being the minority in Spain. So far, though, it hasn't given me too much trouble.
On a Friday night, Tim and I decided to go for a walk around 11 PM. We went to a plaza which turns into the high school hang-out zone after dark. It was so much fun people watching, although I kind-of felt like I was spying. Wherever you are in the world, high schoolers are high schoolers. It was amusing to watch the girls dressed in their heels and short skirts greet the boys, and stand there in a circle with their friends. Tim and I suspected that it must be the their designated meeting place before heading to a discoteca (dance club) or bar (the drinking age is 16 here). The night before, we had taken a walk around midnight and sat down on a bench in a different plaza. There was literally a gang of about 25 cats sauntering around the plaza- it was crazy! Even crazier was the fact that there were still PEOPLE in the plaza... and kids playing on the playground! It's a different world here...
Another night we went out to Mexican food with a group from our program- the only thing missing was Mexicans (all the waiters and cooks were Spanish!) Maybe that's why it was so expensive. There was a group of Spaniards our age in the restaurant, who were saying behind our backs "F-ing tourists!" in Spanish.... I really don't know why some Spaniards hate Americans so much. We weren't being noisy or obnoxious, we were simply eating dinner. Sometimes it's hard to feel welcome in Granada, but it just gives me more motivation to learn Spanish, since I don't want to be viewed as an ignorant, monolingual tourist. But since I'm blonde, I'm always going to stick out here no matter what. It's odd to go from being the majority in Southern California where everyone is blonde, to being the minority in Spain. So far, though, it hasn't given me too much trouble.
my (very Spanish) apartment
I live up on the seventh floor in an apartment building close to downtown. Down below is a very dangerous neighborhood: there's an ice cream shop on the corner with the most incredible hazelnut gelato, a croissaint shop across the street that smells of fresh baguettes and chocolate filled pastries, and a cafe around the corner with cafe con creme (coffee with cream), chocolate con churros, and WIFI (where I'm sitting right now). I practically live in Cafe Colon in the morning, because both my roommates have morning classes while mine are from 4-8 PM. I always order my morning coffee for a euro, and sit in the same seat by the window. The owner must know me as that-blonde-girl-with-the-tiny-bladder, but in my defense, i drink coffee everyday (and lots of water). Unfortunately, the cafe is also a bar, which means people can suck on their cancer sticks and send nasty smoke my direction- i promise I'm not bitter, just concerned for their health! I always order in Spanish, but since the owner lived in Florida for 15 years, he ALWAYS answers me in English- so much for immersing myself in the culture :) With that said, I have to restrain myself daily from buying coffee AND ice cream AND a chocolate filled croissant- because believe me, I would.
But back to my house: it sits at the end of the hall, and has a huge living room with full-length windows looking down on the street below. We sit on couches instead of chairs when we eat, and there's a giant flat-screen TV on the opposite wall. The living room/dining room is furnished with antique furniture, old photographs, posters of Prague and New York (Carmen's favorite places), and ancient paintings. An old camera sits on the shelf next to photo albums and musty books, and even though the room has big windows, it still has that dark, dignified feel to it. Down the hall is Carmen and Paco's room and bathroom, and a small kitchen that has an adjacent laundry room. Further down the hall (close to the front door) is Rachel's room, our bathroom, and me and Hannah's room. When you enter our room, you first have to walk through a tiny, dark hallway. We have two twin beds, a window that opens up to the laundry room ( don't worry, it's bright), and closets on the far wall. It's kind of fun because I can hear Carmen humming to herself every time she does laundry. There's a clothesline right outside, that looks like one of those Tibetan prayer flags when it's full. Every time Carmen hands me my clothes through the window into my room, it reminds me of a drive-through fast food joint... I'm thinking of calling it McLaundry (sorry, bad joke) Our room is pretty dark most of the time, since the lights are rather weak and we are in the back of the house. But it's not that bad- it's kind-of like a little cave: very private and cozy, with paintings, posters, and mirrors smothering the walls.
I don't want to drag this on, but i do want to say that the shower is the oddest part of the house. It's like one of those stand-up boxes magicians use to make people disappear- you literally can't move it's so small. I just hope I don't ever get stuck in there :) The other day I broke the wall attachment for the spigot, so now it's like one of those nursing home showers where you just have the sprayer to hold above your head. Actually, I take that back. I don't think nursing home shower water is quite as cold as ours... it definitely wakes you up in the morning! Did I mention that I also broke the the string attached to our overhead light in the bedroom? Yeah, I haven't had very good luck with household appliances on this trip. Luckily Carmen likes me, or feels sorry for me, or a little bit of both.
But back to my house: it sits at the end of the hall, and has a huge living room with full-length windows looking down on the street below. We sit on couches instead of chairs when we eat, and there's a giant flat-screen TV on the opposite wall. The living room/dining room is furnished with antique furniture, old photographs, posters of Prague and New York (Carmen's favorite places), and ancient paintings. An old camera sits on the shelf next to photo albums and musty books, and even though the room has big windows, it still has that dark, dignified feel to it. Down the hall is Carmen and Paco's room and bathroom, and a small kitchen that has an adjacent laundry room. Further down the hall (close to the front door) is Rachel's room, our bathroom, and me and Hannah's room. When you enter our room, you first have to walk through a tiny, dark hallway. We have two twin beds, a window that opens up to the laundry room ( don't worry, it's bright), and closets on the far wall. It's kind of fun because I can hear Carmen humming to herself every time she does laundry. There's a clothesline right outside, that looks like one of those Tibetan prayer flags when it's full. Every time Carmen hands me my clothes through the window into my room, it reminds me of a drive-through fast food joint... I'm thinking of calling it McLaundry (sorry, bad joke) Our room is pretty dark most of the time, since the lights are rather weak and we are in the back of the house. But it's not that bad- it's kind-of like a little cave: very private and cozy, with paintings, posters, and mirrors smothering the walls.
I don't want to drag this on, but i do want to say that the shower is the oddest part of the house. It's like one of those stand-up boxes magicians use to make people disappear- you literally can't move it's so small. I just hope I don't ever get stuck in there :) The other day I broke the wall attachment for the spigot, so now it's like one of those nursing home showers where you just have the sprayer to hold above your head. Actually, I take that back. I don't think nursing home shower water is quite as cold as ours... it definitely wakes you up in the morning! Did I mention that I also broke the the string attached to our overhead light in the bedroom? Yeah, I haven't had very good luck with household appliances on this trip. Luckily Carmen likes me, or feels sorry for me, or a little bit of both.
Granada y mi familia espanola
September 9th
On August 30th, Tim and I arrived in Granada around 10:30 PM after a long afternoon of travel via the ferry and the bus. We got really, really lucky because we literally had to run off the ferry in Malaga, flag down a taxi, and run onto the bus that left five minutes later for Malaga... we were so relieved we made it!! After taking a taxi to the Hotel Carmen in Granada, I met my roommate Hannah when I accidentally woke her up upon entering our hotel room. Poor Hannah had to travel the entire day with a col/flu- i felt so bad for her! The next morning I went downstairs to the breakfast buffet and met my other roommate, Rachel. I am so blessed to have awesome roommates. Hannah (who I share a room with) is also a junior in college, is a linguistics major, and goes to school at UT Knoxville. Hannah is an avid rock climber and lacrosse player, and we have a LOT of fun together. Rachel just graduated from high school in Chicago, and is here for the whole year. She is quite the fashionista, and also wants to major in journalism. Rachel's boyfriend is also studying in Granada- what are the odds?
After breakfast and a little walking tour of Granada, we went back to the hotel and met our host mothers. My host mother's name is Carmen, and what better way to describe her than SPANISH. I don't think I could imagine a more Spanish woman. She is rather short, with long, dark hair she always wears pulled back. She usually wears long house dresses an a black apron when she cooks, that she ties under her arms like a strapless dress. Her ancestors are all from Spain, and her dad was actually a soccer player on the world famous soccer team, Real Madrid! But it gets better... even though soccer is practically in her blood, Carmen prefers to watch bullfighting- yes, bullfighting!! And, like all good Spanish mothers, she adores her son- and i don't use the word "adore" lightly. Carmen and Paco (her husband, who I will describe in a minute) have four children, but only one son. The entire refrigirator is covered in pictures of their son, who lives in Mallorca and is an accomplished seafood chef. She always, always talks about him, but rarely about her daughters- it's pretty funny! Carmen and Paco have been married for 40 years, and they call each other "mi nia" and "mi nino" (my girl and my boy). Probably back when they started calling each other that, they WERE kids!
Paco is a very amusing older man: every morning around 8 AM he puts on the same baby blue gym shorts that he wears over his pot belly and his red workout shirt and goes to the gym to swim. When he comes home, his sits in his chair in the living room with his shirt off and watches TV. Carmen told us that about 10 years ago, Paco had a head injury, and has some memory loss. He seems a little aloof, but he's very sweet. One day last week, Carmen and Paco's daughters came over with their children. One of the daughters (whose husband also came) has a six year old son, and the other daughter has a two year old daughter and a four year old son. I'll just say that I think Spanish children are absolutely adorable!! In contrast to American children, Spanish parents dress their kids up in cute little dresses and collared shirts (a little impractical but it melts your heart). Carmen brought out some candy and gifts for the kids, and then put on Mulan in Spanish. I tried to follow the conversation, but oh my gosh! Her daughters talked a mile a minute and it sounded like a different language. Defeated, I slumped back on the couch and attempted to watch Mulan with the kids. But every five minutes, Paco would randomly break out in some Spanish folk song about having to painstakingly chose between three pretty girls in Granada in his robust, deep voice. The funny thing was, no one seemed to pay any attention to him, they just kept talking! Not even his granddaughter, Aurora, who he kept trying to lure over: "Aurora, dame besos!" (Give me kisses! ). Both her and her brother were more interested in the handheld Gameboy that Grandma had taken down from the highest shelf for them to play with. I felt kind-of bad for Paco, but he didn't seem to mind; he just kept on singing and I loved every minute of it.
On August 30th, Tim and I arrived in Granada around 10:30 PM after a long afternoon of travel via the ferry and the bus. We got really, really lucky because we literally had to run off the ferry in Malaga, flag down a taxi, and run onto the bus that left five minutes later for Malaga... we were so relieved we made it!! After taking a taxi to the Hotel Carmen in Granada, I met my roommate Hannah when I accidentally woke her up upon entering our hotel room. Poor Hannah had to travel the entire day with a col/flu- i felt so bad for her! The next morning I went downstairs to the breakfast buffet and met my other roommate, Rachel. I am so blessed to have awesome roommates. Hannah (who I share a room with) is also a junior in college, is a linguistics major, and goes to school at UT Knoxville. Hannah is an avid rock climber and lacrosse player, and we have a LOT of fun together. Rachel just graduated from high school in Chicago, and is here for the whole year. She is quite the fashionista, and also wants to major in journalism. Rachel's boyfriend is also studying in Granada- what are the odds?
After breakfast and a little walking tour of Granada, we went back to the hotel and met our host mothers. My host mother's name is Carmen, and what better way to describe her than SPANISH. I don't think I could imagine a more Spanish woman. She is rather short, with long, dark hair she always wears pulled back. She usually wears long house dresses an a black apron when she cooks, that she ties under her arms like a strapless dress. Her ancestors are all from Spain, and her dad was actually a soccer player on the world famous soccer team, Real Madrid! But it gets better... even though soccer is practically in her blood, Carmen prefers to watch bullfighting- yes, bullfighting!! And, like all good Spanish mothers, she adores her son- and i don't use the word "adore" lightly. Carmen and Paco (her husband, who I will describe in a minute) have four children, but only one son. The entire refrigirator is covered in pictures of their son, who lives in Mallorca and is an accomplished seafood chef. She always, always talks about him, but rarely about her daughters- it's pretty funny! Carmen and Paco have been married for 40 years, and they call each other "mi nia" and "mi nino" (my girl and my boy). Probably back when they started calling each other that, they WERE kids!
Paco is a very amusing older man: every morning around 8 AM he puts on the same baby blue gym shorts that he wears over his pot belly and his red workout shirt and goes to the gym to swim. When he comes home, his sits in his chair in the living room with his shirt off and watches TV. Carmen told us that about 10 years ago, Paco had a head injury, and has some memory loss. He seems a little aloof, but he's very sweet. One day last week, Carmen and Paco's daughters came over with their children. One of the daughters (whose husband also came) has a six year old son, and the other daughter has a two year old daughter and a four year old son. I'll just say that I think Spanish children are absolutely adorable!! In contrast to American children, Spanish parents dress their kids up in cute little dresses and collared shirts (a little impractical but it melts your heart). Carmen brought out some candy and gifts for the kids, and then put on Mulan in Spanish. I tried to follow the conversation, but oh my gosh! Her daughters talked a mile a minute and it sounded like a different language. Defeated, I slumped back on the couch and attempted to watch Mulan with the kids. But every five minutes, Paco would randomly break out in some Spanish folk song about having to painstakingly chose between three pretty girls in Granada in his robust, deep voice. The funny thing was, no one seemed to pay any attention to him, they just kept talking! Not even his granddaughter, Aurora, who he kept trying to lure over: "Aurora, dame besos!" (Give me kisses! ). Both her and her brother were more interested in the handheld Gameboy that Grandma had taken down from the highest shelf for them to play with. I felt kind-of bad for Paco, but he didn't seem to mind; he just kept on singing and I loved every minute of it.
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