Memories of a (Mexican-American) woman who grew up in a bar.

The other week I was putting in facetime in local bars, and I met these two (Mexican-American) women, and we started chit-chatting.

It turns out that one of them grew up in a bar in the city that her dad ran.

A lot of times, her mom would cook up something for bar snacks like tamales, menudo, or posole, and then like on a Sunday afternoon her mom'd take her and her sister and her brothers down to the bar, wheeling after them this little red wagon with a big pot on it, all the way down the sidewalk to the bar.

But, women couldn't go inside the bar, so they'd stop outside, and then her two brothers would lift the pot off the wagon and go take it inside, while all the rest of them all waited outside.

That same woman said her dad also worked some on the railroad, and on the line going way down into rural Mexico, sometimes farmers would pay for rides "in kind" and give the conductors bananas and whatnot.