Eric and Chile

We have always risen reasonably early by most peoples’ standards. Sometimes on Sunday mornings we might sleep in, but usually we rise and shine by seven. And we almost always managed to get up before our son, Eric.

With some surprise, then, I woke up around 5:30 one Sunday morning to find Eric dressed and leaving the house. He said he was going to church. And that was probably true, I thought, because there’s not much a teenage boy can do at 5:30 Sunday morning besides go to church. At the same time, since we never participated ourselves, I couldn’t help but wonder what motivated the boy.

Later investigation revealed it all had to do with Chile, a bartender at Tres Barriles (Three Barrels). There was absolutely nothing for young foreigners to do in Spain except study or hang out with each other. No youth clubs, no soccer leagues, nada. And, being foreigners, they couldn’t get jobs.

Eric and several friends got to know Chile as he was setting out tables for the evening trade. They called him “Chile” because that’s where he came from, Chile.

Chile let the boys help him set out tables and bought them a soft drink in exchange. But he had a proviso. They couldn’t help unless they went to church with him. “He even gave me a hundred pesetas for the collection box, Dad,” Eric said as he ran out the door.

“My God,” I thought as I rolled over and went back to sleep. “My son’s bartender is a better influence on him than I am.”

Eric’s newly discovered piety didn’t last very long, though. Six o’clock mass is early for anybody, let alone a teenager.