How Can You Not Like Tabasco?

Our Kindergarten class
was learning how to count to ten
in Spanish.
My father had tried to teach me
but I never had any interest in learning
at five years old.
He would say something and ask me
to repeat it.
I would just say, 'Blahblahblah'.
And after awhile he got pissed
and gave up.
But the one thing he did teach me
besides a few select curse words
was how to count to ten.
Well my teacher was white
and counting along
when she got to three.
Tres.
She said it like,
'trace'.
I immediately interrupted her
"That's not how you say it."
"Excuse me?" She asked, surprised.
"It's tres, not trace. I'm Mexican, I know."
"Okay, well Daniel I'm the teacher--"
"But that's not how you say it, though."
"Daniel. I....am....the teacher. You are the student--"
"You're just a bitch."
"WHAT?!"
She sent me home with a note
telling my parents what I'd said
and giving me a 'red light' for the day.
Being a naive little five year-old
I walked in the door
and handed the note right to my Mom.
I don't know why I wasn't more scared
of what would happen to me
but then again
I'd never really gotten in trouble at school before.
My Mom stood reading it
her eyes getting wider
and more white
in the way that terrified me.
She was really pissed.
The scary thing was
she didn't scream or yell
no
she just said, "You wait until your Dad gets home."
I began to cry.
"You better dry it up!"
All afternoon long
I sat in my room
like a man about to be executed
sitting in his cell
counting down the minutes.
After sundown
my Father finally came home.
My door swung open
and there stood my father
His hardhat and work gloves
still in his hands
reeking of sweat and the Arizona sun.
"Get out here. NOW."
I hurriedly walked out to the kitchen.
Slowly my Dad began to talk
"Spanking you doesn't work, taking away your toys or your Nintendo doesn't make you listen. So maybe this will."
He said, pulling the bottle of red Tabasco sauce from the cupboard.
I'd seen the old man put it on his eggs
and just about everything else he ate
besides his cereal.
Just the smell of it across the table
had burned my nose.
"You think it's okay to talk to the teacher like that? Huh?!"
My father said, kneeling down
his large brown hands gripping my shoulders
his bloodshot eyes piercing into my soul
"You are the student. She is the teacher. You think you know it all? You don't know shit.
Is that having respect for an adult?"
I stood silent just staring at him.
He quickly swatted my stomach
to get my attention
"Huh?"
"No."
"No, what?"
"No, that's not having respect."
"No, it's not. Now, Rhonda....gimme that."
He said reaching for the bottle.
"No, no, no, no!" I began to frantically cry, covering my mouth.
"Hey, this is what happens son. For every choice that you make, there is a consequence.
You can't just do whatever you want. Nobody can. Not even me. Now here....take your medicine, son."
"It's medicine? I thought it was chili..."
My Mother stood her hand over her mouth
her stomach shaking with laughter
she finally turned away from me
laughing in the corner by the fridge.
"Take your medicine, son. It means, take your punishment. And take it like a man. You fucked up, so pay for it."
"Okay." I said, with a sniffle
as my father unscrewed the red cap
"Stick out your tongue."
I did as I was told
and he let one little
tiny drop
hit my tongue.
Steam might have come out of my ears
I don't remember
I was very young.
But I ran throughout the house screaming
and wailing like a goddamn banshee.
My Mom and Dad both just laughing their asses off
faces red
tears in their eyes
as I fought to climb the counter
and get my mouth under the faucet.
Tears and drool all pouring from my face.
But the water didn't help
it only seemed to make it worse.
My tongue burned so much
I couldn't even feel it anymore
my mouth was just engulfed in flame.
"Danny...." my mother said
in a 'poor thing' tone.
My Dad, smiling, poured me a little glass of milk
which I downed
and the burning finally ceased.
Like a flame snuffed out
it just stopped.
And then I remember
trying to catch my breath
saying,
"I......can't.....breath...."
in between sobs.
And then my Mom picked me up into her arms
and my father ran his big fingers through my hair
and kissed my cheek.
They were just trying to teach me
the law of cause and effect.
Crime and punishment.
And it worked.
To this day
if I'm eating somewhere with friends
and I even smell Tabasco
while someone douses it on their eggs
I always get pissed off
when someone asks
"What's the matter? You don't like Tabasco? How can you not like Tabasco?"
Ha!
Well let me tell ya about it, pal.