You look at me and get angry.
No I don't have much education.
No I don't have a lot of money.
No I don't have stylish clothes.
You look at me and get angry.
Yes, I work from dawn to dusk.
Yes, I know that the time with you
is not much.
Yes, I feel the emptyness too.
You look at me and get angry.
But my son, I give to you my dreams
for a better life. I will continue to love
and work for you. I will suffer anything that
comes my way for you.
But my son, you make me angry too!!!
You wear your baggy clothes to hide who you are.
You kill, steal and call others familia.
You say you are chicano with such pride,
yet not understanding what it means.
I my son am latino!! I have fought wars
you could never imagine.
To be where I am today. No not in the streets
with people I call my brothers, but everyday.
Learn the respect of others for who I am, not
a gang, my son, but me.
I look at you and get angry!!!
For you cannot see that I have self-respect and dignity.
This my son, no man can take away from me.
You run the streets with others,
who tell you what to do.
You are embarrassed of me.
But my son, I ask you, what do you have
that no man can take from you?
Should I be embarrassed of you too?
P. Montes in memory of Francisco Montes
