Soñador Eterno
En el que me volvo un romántico—un soñador eterno
I love regional Mexican music—banda, norteño, mariachi
I don’t know how this happened. Briefly, I felt as though I should try to explain the-how-and-the-why of this to myself and to the reader, but then I thought better of it.
Banda is delightful. I delight in it. That’s really all there is to it.
This morning, as I was driving my son to preschool, Carin León’s version of “Soñador Eterno” came up on shuffle. I disappeared into a fantasy.
I’m at a party. It’s one of those sunny-day parties at a local park where a family has rented out a pavilion with a grill and some picnic tables. There are dozens of people there, most of whom speak Spanish. Kids are running all over the place.
Back in reality, I pass an apple slice back to my son while we wait at a red light.
Why would I be at this party? Eh. Doesn’t really matter. I’m somebody’s plus one. Good enough.
There are a few uncles in the corner of the pavilion playing classic norteño songs. Some of the uncles have guitars. One of the uncles has an accordion.
Then the person who brought me as their plus one decides to have a little fun at my expense. They introduce me to the host.
They say, “¿Sabías que Paul toca la guitarra?”1
I shake my head and blush.
“No, no, no…” I say. “Es… uh… No es mi cumpleaños.”
But one of the uncles has overheard. He smiles. He laughs. He has an “oh this will be entertaining” look on his face. He hands me his guitar.
“¡Toma!” he says. “Take it!”
My mind is racing. My heart is beating fast.
“Okay,” I say. “Okay.”
The uncle stands. He takes a swig of his beer. He gestures for me to sit in his folding chair. He adjusts the microphone he’s got hooked up to his little PA system. I play a few chords—get my bearings on an unfamiliar fretboard. I look to the accordion player. His mustache is so great.
“Toca… Um,” I say. “Puedo… Shit. Sorry. No, puedas… ¿Puedas tocar ‘Soñador Eterno’?”
Accordion uncle looks at guitar uncle. Their faces show a mix of surprise, respect, and amusement.
“¿Quién no?” says Uncle Accordion. “You play. I’ll follow you.”
I take a deep breath. I take a shot of tequila. (In my fantasy, I’m not an alcoholic, so it’s fine.) I begin to play. The others join in. People are starting to notice that the music is picking up again. They are also starting to notice that some white guy is sitting in with Uncle Accordion and the band.
And then I do this:
The other guests know the song. Of course they know the song. They start to sing along. They clap in time. I’m killing it. Everyone is so surprised and delighted that I can sing a song in Spanish. And such a beautiful voice!
And then, back in reality, back in my car, the light turns green. I hear my son munching on his apple slices. I begin to drive again. The chorus hits.
Y me volví un romántico
Un soñador eterno
Que mira las estrellas
Te juro, las pondría en tus manos, si pudiera
And I became a romantic
An eternal dreamer
Who gazes at the stars
I swear, I'd put them in your hands, if I could
And as I pull through the intersection, I begin to cry. I hold it back as best I can to focus on the road.
Because I remember that at that very moment, people are terrified in Los Angeles and across the country
I think of every immigrant in my life. I think about ordering a bullhorn and a box of red cards. I remember that I need to get my son to preschool first. And then, of course, I have to go to work.
For a moment, I am deeply grateful for my ability to live in daydreams
I’ve been beating myself up a lot lately. For living in fantasies while the fire of reality rages. For having trouble understanding people’s intentions and emotions in real life. For investing in an internal, imaginary world. I’ve been feeling selfish about it. Foolish. Childish. Deluded.
But as I was driving that last leg to the preschool—a route I’ve taken hundreds of times—I wiped my tears and smiled for a minute or two. I let myself finish the pavilion-party fantasy. In fact, when the song was over, I played it again. I gave my fantasy a round two.
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t for any purpose. But it was a nice place to be. It was better than reality. It was the best I’d felt all morning.
Then I had a moment of broader reflection. I imagined this essay. Or, maybe I imagined a scene in a novel. Or a movie. Yes. A movie would be better for this. You’re going to want the audience to hear the song.
My difficulty staying focused.
My inflexibility.
My autism.
My ADHD.
Whatever.
They can be very frustrating. They can make me feel broken sometimes. It’s like I said above: I’ve been beating myself up a lot lately for the way my mind wanders—for the ways that it has trouble connecting with other minds. But this morning, I dreamed up a little dream. It was a silly fantasy, but it made me feel happy. And then, in an instant, the fantasy ported me into a reality that I hadn’t been able to fully face or articulate to that point: The terror of ICE raids.
And then, in a kind of protoplasmic state, the euphoria of the dream and the dread of the reality swirled together to form something new. A real, actual thing. Something I could share.
I’m not a religious person. I don’t believe in God. But being raised Catholic, I absorbed a thing or two. I’ve been thinking about this a lot today:
Matthew 22:36-40
“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”
Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and Prophets hang on these two commandments.”
One more thing about the song itself
I got to know “Soñador Eterno” through Carin León. I love his version, but check out this live version by Intocable, the band who wrote it. I would love to have been invited to this party:
This is where it may become clear that I don’t speak Spanish. I mean, I do “speak Spanish” but only about as well as the broken Spanish I have fantasy-me speak in the dialogue that follows. I failed Spanish 201 in college. Lately, I keep getting to about the same level in Duolingo and then I get fidgety and decide to start Finnish or Turkish or something. I would love to be fluent in Spanish, but I’m not. I did my best here with my 102 knowledge and a dictionary, but please do (kindly) let me know if you see any mistakes.