Herd immunity is the new term of the coronavirus era. It’s what the country of Netherlands is crossing its fingers for as it holds back on public quarantine. It means the community at large has been exposed enough to contagions that they provide an insular immunity to those vulnerable within. Well, I have some (completely unscientific) theories…about why us Latinos probably have herd immunity already.
We travel in large groups.
It’s always the whole family. No matter if it’s the game, the mall, the restaurant, the movies, the park, the Disneyland, wherever we’re going, we’re bringing mami, papi, abuela, tia, tio, los primos, Chemita, Lourdes, Pepe, Martica, Anjelina, and even Cuca (who nobody likes). In fact, everyone is invited to everything, because if you don’t invite a Latino family member to every semi-get-together, even the most mundane gathering, they fight with you for at least the rest of the calendar year.
We let our kids play outside.
Juanito was running all over the jagged sidewalk, como un loco, like we told him not to – then he fell. He skinned his knee. Now he’s inside crying to his mom. She applies some hydrogen peroxide. It stings. He cries one more time. She wipes it down – puts a band-aid on it. We shuck a microwaved corn dog in his mouth, turn on an episode of Barney or whatever these groms are watching these days, and it’s over. Nobody died. The kid will survive. Everything’s fine.
We yell over each other.
I don’t just mean we yell over each other like in volume. I mean we rise up out of our chair, get on our tippy toes and yell right over the other the head of the arguing party. I go home for Christmas just to get projectile spit on during any number of semi-tense to all out war-type arguments that go down in my family during the holidays. So, we’ve most definitely built up a defense to all the loogie-droplets dispelled during the kind of heated arguments that go down at any time in a Latino household. At least in mine.
Dad always picks at our food.
Freakin’ Dad…with his hands all over my plate as a kid. Even as a grown ass adult, this guy keeps picking at my rice. He just leans over, digs his morose fork into my plate and hauls away a heaping pile of rice. No “excuse me,” no “por favor,” he just takes it. And because it’s not his rice to begin with, he doesn’t value it. He ends up wasting half of it. It falls to the floor as he shoves it in his mouth. WTF! He has his own rice! And to top it all off, he shouldn’t even be eating more rice because he has diabetes! I tell him all the time. So does my mom. (Disclaimer: My dad is actually diabetic everyone, so don’t’ give me s*** about that joke. It’s not a joke! It’s real life. But he finds it funny anyway, so there.)
That cousin always double dips
Bro…I got this cousin, I won’t say his name, but it rhymes with Bose, if Bose was pronounced the way its spelled. This guy just comes along every Fourth of July, and whatever is on the table that calls for a careful, courteous scoop, becomes a Petri dish for his squalor (I don’t know where he’s been, we barely talk, so I assume the worst). Anyway, this guy just plunges his hands into the bowl with a chip or a piece of bread, like up to where his fingers are in the dip or salsa. Then after he takes that bite, you’d think he leaves it alone? Hell no. He just dips right back in. I hate that guy. But I don’t say anything because he’s familia, which I’m not even sure about to be honest. Next time, I’m saying something – I don’t care.
NOTE: This column is meant for humorous consumption. While in one way, shape, or form Latinos DO have herd immunity, we all need to take COVID-19 seriously. Stay safe – don’t do what is mentioned above. We’ll flaunt our super immune systems on the next one. Aight peeps. One love!