by David Safier
I went to the Burrito Tardeada in front of the TUSD Admin building this evening. I came a little late. A good crowd had already gathered. Curtis Acosta was giving one of his fiery speeches with the TV News cameras trained on him. I nodded, smiled and applauded as he spoke, appreciating his oratorical skills as well as his message. As I listened, however, persuasive though he was, I managed to keep my critical thinking skills intact.
And then, Curtis stepped aside. Behind him was a long table with smiling young women behind it, offering us burritos. One smiled at me, beckoning. I walked forward and took the small package out of her hand. Slowly, I unwrapped one end of the waxed paper and took a bite.
The flesh of the burrito, the flour tortilla wrapping, was pliant yet firm. The frijoles inside were body temperature, fragrant and tangy. My tastebuds surrendered to their soft seduction. I took a second bite, then a third. Slowly, I felt my free will ebbing away. With my last threads of critical thought, I understood, this is how they seduced all those vulnerable, impressionable children in their Mexican American Studies classes, plying them with burritos until they were helpless to resist.
But I no longer cared. My Polish/Russian/Jewish heritage slipped away as the burrito transformed me. I was Mexican-American. I craved those seven banned books. Unlike Rosa Clark, I wanted to walk on a bus with a gun and terrorize the passengers. I wanted to take back these stolen lands, by force if necessary, and reunite them with Mother Mexico. We must fight and win, by any means necessary!
Lord help me. Michael Hicks, you were right. The burrito is too powerful. Children, the only way to resist is not to take that first bite. I know. I've been there. Now there's no turning back.