On Pan Dulce, Puerquitos, and the Shape of My Daddy's Eyes

When you look at the title of the blog post it may leave you wondering how any of these things are connected or related to each other. Well, puerquitos are a type of pan dulce, so that's how those two are related...but the shape of my daddy's eyes, well, that will come later.

A few weeks ago it was tech weekend at CASA 0101. It was the final weekend before our plays hit the stage and we ran through all technical aspects until they were perfect. There is a lot of shouting, a ton of revising, and enough food to feed a group of hungry actors and writers. I had signed up to be in charge of pan dulce for Sunday morning because I didn't want to cook or worry about cleaning up. I thought it was the smartest thing to sign up for, until I realized I didn't know the area and had no idea where to buy pan dulce in Boyle Heights.

After getting tips and directions from our EP, Claudia Elizabeth Duran, I made my way to La Favorita Panaderia to get everything I needed. One of our actors, Lorena Rubio, was outside and asked if she could go with me to pass the time before rehearsals. I am so glad that she went because I can't parallel park my car if my life depended on it. It was so embarrassing to even attempt it, so the third time I failed she offered to jump in and do it for me haha #shestherealMVP.

When we arrived to the front door, a kind older señor held the door open for us. He was wearing a navy puffer vest with a blue and white checkered button-down shirt underneath. His outfit stuck out to me because this was part of my daddy's uniform when leaving the house. I could tell that this man was familiar with the women who worked in the bakery because he began greeting them by first name. It was nice to watch the women's smiles begin to form as they responded to him with "buenos dias" and "que bonito verlo por aca."

My Daddy in all the iterations of his blue and white checkered shirts, plus his navy puffer vest. 

After I grabbed a pair of tongs and a tray to start piling on the pan dulce (I won't even share how it smelled in there because I will make myself hungry and I am trying to act right with my nutrition #RonaDiet2020), I heard the señor shout to the women behind the counter, "Que paso, ya no hay pequitos?" To those who know the Spanish name of this bread, it is obviously "puerquitos," or little pig, but this pronunciation of the word without the 'u' and the 'r' is one that is used to make the sound of the word even more diminutive, or childish--almost as a term of endearment.

The puerquito pan dulce at La Favorita Panaderia (taken on a return visit)

The way he pronounced it stopped me in my tracks. The way he pronounced this word is the exact same way my daddy used to pronounce it when playing with the toes of my children. He would pretend to eat their toes, the little piggies, to make them giggle and he would say, "Me voy a comer este pequito." I looked at Lorena for a sign that I wasn't losing my mind, that I was still in the same panaderia and not in some weird daydream session. She looked at me standing there with my empty tray and asked me what was wrong. Without the ability to explain to her what was going through my head and heart, I told her that they were out of the mini conchas and I would have to get another type of pan dulce. That became my new mission so I could ignore the feelings that were going to cause me to break down crying on Fourth Street at a random panaderia.

After filling up my tray with warm and delicious pan dulce I wasn't even going to be able to enjoy, I stood in line for my bread to be priced and bagged. The older señor took his place in line behind me.

I froze up. I was afraid to look at him so I looked around to see where Lorena was and hoped she would come stand with me. I heard a voice from behind me say, "Tu no eres de por aqui." I wanted to ignore it, but I wondered how he knew that I wasn't from around there, that I wasn't a true Angelena. I answered, "Si, si soy de aqui," I figured that I could tell him that I was from around there because even though Boyle Heights wasn't my hometown, it was the place that held the biggest piece of my heart.

I could tell he wasn't buying into my stretched truth, so he replied with, "Sabes como se que no eres de por aqui?" I didn't know how to answer him when he asked me if I knew why he questioned that I was from around there. I just shook my head left and right, which gave him the go-ahead to tell me his opinion. He said, "Se que no eres de por aqui por que tu eres muy bonita para ser de aqui." It wasn't what he said that threw me off, although I didn't believe that I was too "bonita" to be from around the block. It was his eyes. The almond shape of his eyes and that faraway look as though he was thinking of someone from long, long ago. His bushy black eyebrows contrasted the silver strands of wisdom he had atop his head and it was in that moment, the moment I saw my reflection in his eyes that I pictured myself at El Toro Panaderia in Santa Ana throughout my childhood.

His eyes were the shape of my daddy's and I was momentarily thrown off by the fact that my heart suddenly shattered from nostalgia; his voice is what brought me back to the present. He asked me what I was doing in that area because he visited the panaderia almost every morning and had never seen me. I briefly told him about Chicanas, Cholas, y Chisme and my play. I told him that I spent a lot of time at CASA 0101 Theater and he knew exactly where it was because his pharmacy shares a wall with the theater. After inviting him to watch the plays, I quickly paid the woman behind the counter, found Lorena, and began walking out of the panaderia.

I have returned several times to La Favorita hoping to find the señor with my daddy's eyes, but I haven't had any luck. I believe that when I stop looking for him I just may run into him somewhere else. Until our paths cross again, I hope that the señor finds his "pequitos" every time he's at La Favorita.

Life is good, even when I'm missing my daddy.