LETTERS FROM HOME: HOMESICK STUDENT LOOKS FOR PICTURES OF PANAMA IN CHICAGO

Sept. 18, 1997

Dear Rodriguez family

Your son/brother and I went north to the Chicago Latin Festival last weekend. I think he has been missing his family and Panama badly, so the festival was at least a chance to experience some of the sounds and tastes of home.

My wife DC and I have been concerned about him lately. When riding in the car he has seemed preoccupied and doesn't always answer when addressed. "Carlos is in Panama," one of us says, and he nods.

Both of us know how homesick feels, yearning to see the lay of Missouri land, to have dinner at your parents' table, to hear crows, to look up and see a familiar face.

Carlos marks the passing of time not by the seasons or semesters here but by the holidays in Panama.

Latinos from many different countries were at the festival but the best part for Carlos and for me was a performance by a Panamanian folk ballet company from Miami, Fla.

Before they began, Carlos cornered some of the costumed male dancers in the crowd. They told him they were all from Panama City, but he says many people from small towns in Panama claim they live in the capital.

Everybody wants to seem more sophisticated than they are, I guess. There are people in the U.S. who think it's better to be from Chicago than from Cape Girardeau.

We moved down front for the dance performance. The young women were gorgeous in their lacy white dresses, gold jewelry and multi-colored tiaras. Carlos excitedly explained the significance of each dance to me, and as they whirled and shouted he smiled and seemed transported home for a few moments.

He snapped a photograph of one of the dancers, a beauty he proclaimed pretty enough to be the queen of Carnival back home if only she were taller. Carnival queens have to be tall so they stand out when they wave to the crowds, he further explained.

Well, she could be your queen, I said.

Yes, he said, she could.

Carlos loves Panamanian girls.

He talked to the dancers after they finished, including his favorite, named Yami. They invited him to a party that night, but he didn't go because everybody else would have a written invitation. He's too polite to crash a party.

Carlos had me taking many pictures of him against the skyline. And he introduced me to the differences between yellow and green fried plantains. He found it comical that I didn't know these tastes so familiar to him.

We talked about many things on the long drive to and from Chicago: metaphysics and baseball and families and newspapers and women. We understand them all imperfectly.

Because I'm old enough to be his father, sometimes I find myself trying to advise him. But I think he is familiar with the terrain of his own heart. To be so is all the advice anyone needs.

In English much improved since arriving in the U.S., Carlos speaks of you often. He worries about his blossoming little sister and wishes he were there to fend off the boys who will be chasing her. He is proud of his brother studying forestry in Ecuador. And he hopes for his mother's and his father's happiness.

DC couldn't go to Chicago with us but she's very fond of Carlos, too. She often refers to him as "our son." But it isn't our home he longs to see.

Sam

Sam Blackwell is a member of the Southeast Missourian news staff.