My daddy, Emiliano, the generalissimo, rode atop his horse under a little roof like this at the gates of Hacienda de San Juan in the State of Morelos before he was shot dead in 1919 by Carranza’s pendejos.* Daddy was just 39.
Mama cried for years, and I miss him still.
I’ve long wanted a similar roof of clay tile over our own Hacienda’s entrance, and now I have it, thanks to a couple of sharp albañiles, which is what we call guys who build stuff below the Rio Bravo.
It took the fellows, two brothers, three days to complete the job, and the total cost, labor and materials, came to about $445. That’s U.S. bucks.
I wish Daddy could see the gate. He’d be very old now, but he’d likely rush through the gates with his pistols blazing. Wouldn’t fool Daddy twice.
* * * *
* Pendejo means sumbitch in Spanish.