A Story About Books
I don’t really like babies. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with them, it’s just that, as someone who does not possess the parental inclination I find them rather dull. They don’t really do anything. They’re these demanding little human burritos who cry when they need food or their butts wiped.
Until they’re actually old enough to be influenced by their dear, sweet, AMAZING uncle Rudy I prefer them in photos than in person.
Of course, once those babies become kids I tend to be easily influenced myself. My niece, for example, has had a profound influence on me in ways she likely won’t fully comprehend for years.
Her story is ultimately hers to tell, but she is a fierce little thing. Truly an impressive human being. She looks the part, too. I remember thinking, she looks like that princess in that one picture we all saw growing up.
That picture is of the painting Grandeza Azteca by Jesus Helguera and growing up it was everywhere. The image depicts the Legend of Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl.
The story goes something like this: the emperor sent Popocatépetl off to war, promising him Iztaccíhuatl as his wife when he returned. Iztaccíhuatl's father presumed he would die in battle. Meanwhile, Iztaccíhuatl was told that Popocatépetl had died in battle when in fact he had not, and believing the news, she died of grief. When Popocatépetl returned to find his beloved dead, he took her body to a spot outside Tenochtitlan and kneeled by her grave in grief. The gods covered them with snow and changed them into mountains. Iztaccíhuatl's mountain is called "Sleeping Woman" because it resembles a woman lying on her back, and is often covered with snow. Popocatépetl became an active volcano, raining fire on Earth in blind rage at the loss of his beloved.
I wish I could tell you that I remembered that story from my childhood. And it is very likely I was told it at some point, but I still had to look it up. In my memory she was a warrior, not a princess. My niece is both.
I would never have bothered researching that story were it not for her.
It ended up being the beginning of a sort-of obsession for me. I wondered what else I didn’t know about my own ancestors. I know that chocolate, avocados, corn and a whole lot more came from them, but I wanted to learn about the parts erased.
As an atheist who loves religious mythology I started with a simple question: Who were our gods before christians destroyed them?
You guys, I discovered a pantheon that rivals that of ancient Greeks and the Norse Vikings. Creation stories, bickering gods, a robust and multi-layered after life.
I was initially angry that so much of our culture and rich history was all but erased and replaced with some white-washed version of a middle eastern hippy in order to exert control. But that gave way to excitement because I am preternaturally curious and have devoured anything I can find on our lost gods.
I also realized that I could not possibly be the only middle-aged Chicano who was never taught about our ancestors so…
I decided to create something. A book. At first. Then it bloomed into two books - one in English and the other in Spanish. Then it morphed into a series.
A series of kids books.
So my nieces and nephews never have to wonder where they came from. Frankly, so I can learn more about my own ancestral history. And it won’t be confined to just the gods - although that could take up an entire lifetime. No, there will be ancient stories reimagined, cultural history.
This is just the beginning. If the gods are as kind as my curiousity is relentless, I’ll go further back—to the Olmecs, the Toltecs, and all the stories in between. My nieces and nephews deserve to know. And honestly, so do I.