Sep 10, 2019
Listen to me and Luisa Kay Reyes discuss how she got into writing, her many other talents such as singing operatic and classical music, playing the piano, and the many languages she speaks. We also talk about the lost art of letter writing.
http://yourartsygirlpodcast.com/episodes
Changing Dollars
by Luisa Kay Reyes
published in Little Rose Magazine, March, 2019
As we
walked into the empty breezeway of this Spanish Colonial style
building that was set off of the main plaza of a rural village in
Michoacan, Mexico, the sole gentleman standing there pulled out a
very dusty and rickety small wooden table from the back corner
along with an equally flimsy small chair and set it out in the
middle of the foyer for my father. Who promptly set his dark
colored cloth bag full of Mexican currency on the top of the table.
And as soon as I turned around, what had merely a second before
been an empty outside corridor styled with the traditional Spanish
archways, was now filled with a long line of working men who were
eager to change their U.S. Dollars into Mexican pesos.
It was a most exposed way of
changing money. Causing my mother to not unjustly worry about
the safety of my brother and me as we were visiting our father
during the summer and accompanying him while he conducted his in
person money exchanges. With it being the early 1990s and the
use of Western Union, Mejico Express, and other means of
electronically transferring money internationally not yet in vogue
along with the reticence of the mainstream banks to change dollars
in a land where counterfeit movies, music, knock-off purses, and
fake sterling silver jewelry could be easily purchased at any
weekly street market; there was a great demand for those willing to
undergo the inherent dangers and risks of such an enterprise.
And my father happened to be one of them.
With our proud to be an American
side of the family comprising of teachers and professors who were
highly educated but receiving at best average compensation, the
mass quantities of U.S. Dollars being changed into pesos that day
were a first for my brother and me. For we had never beheld
so many bills even during our periodic long drawn out Monopoly
games. Yet, as the line continued increasing with the men
continually bringing their dollars to change, it soon became
evident that while the U.S. Dollars flowing through that day would
never run out, the Mexican pesos that our father had brought with
him for the exchanges - might.
Once the glamour of seeing so many
dollars in one place wore off and the day evidenced that it would
be a sizeable one, my brother and I ventured out of the breezeway
into the village’s central plaza and looked around for what treats
we could find to eat. We were deep in the heart of Mexico in
the region that had once housed the mighty Purepecha empire, but
with Michoacan being a primarily agricultural state, the current
necessities of making a living had commanded many to go up to “el
Norte” and figure out how to send their dollars back
home.
While every year hundreds of
millions and perhaps billions of monarch butterflies migrate up to
three-thousand miles from Canada and North America to their winter
homes in the oyamel fir trees of Michoacan, over time it became
apparent that they weren’t the only entity undergoing such a
lengthy journey. For the next time my brother and I went to
visit our father in Michoacan, his money exchange business was now
a brick and mortar one with several branches operated by his
siblings throughout the area.
“Why doesn’t Mexico just use the
dollar as their currency once and for all?” I asked my
father. For it certainly seemed like a much simpler option than
this continual hassle of changing money back and forth from dollars
to pesos and vice versa.
“Well, that’s what I’ve always said”
was his reply. “But it is better for me that they
don’t.”
Then
late one night we went to meet with some city officials who were
wanting to buy some dollars for the city treasury. For with
the ever present concern of the Mexican peso undergoing further
devastating devaluations, even the city was deeming it expedient to
have some dollars on hand. And my father’s business was in a
position to sell them some dollars at a better price than the banks
could offer.
Now that the money exchanging
business was more official with its office in the center of the
historic colonial era downtown, lots of money orders, cashier’s
checks, and IRS refund checks were coming through the teller
windows, as well. Often times they weren’t filled out properly and
we would have to draw arrows back and forth between the “pay to”
and the purchaser fields. There were also some very wrinkled
diminutive peasant women covered in their native shawls among the
clientele now who were coming through with thousands of dollars
worth of money orders, the result of five or more sons sending
their earnings back home. The locals informed us that Michoacan had
reached the point to where there were more people from Michoacan
living in the U.S. than in Michoacan, itself. And the rural
villages that we used to go to with our father, were now devoid of
men. Since all of the able-bodied males from the ages of twelve to
fifty were in the United States working. We actually missed getting
to explore some of the outlying villages like we’d done before,
although, sometimes my brother was able to accompany the security
guards to some of the more remote branches.
Why the banks were so hesitant to
enter into the money exchange business was a bit mystifying for my
brother and me. Since after seeing so many dollar bills come
through, it was quite easy to spot the counterfeit ones. There was
just something a little bit off about the swamp green ink color or
the thickness of the paper not feeling quite the same. Yet,
one time, my brother took back a counterfeit bill to the States.
And after eating at a restaurant, he decided to see if he could get
away with using it. Sure enough, the friendly server accepted the
bill without question. And fearing that she might receive a
reprimand if her boss were apprised of the fact that she had just
accepted a counterfeit, I insisted we tell her to bring it back and
let us pay with the real money.
She didn’t want to do so. She
just couldn’t see how the bill was a counterfeit since she swore it
looked identical to the real thing. But, after a while, we
convinced her to let us pay with the real money and still a bit
puzzled by it all she reluctantly accepted to make the
exchange. Admitting to us that she simply couldn’t tell the
difference between it and the real money.
Having more employees in the money
exchange business meant there was less for us to do during our
summer visits. So my brother and I got to indulge in a
lifestyle barred from us in the USA, that of spending the day in
the country clubs and fine dining in the evenings. Yet one
time I decided I wanted to save some of my money to buy a new cd
player. A notion for which I was quickly called to task, since my
father felt the money he gave us to spend during our visits was for
us to have a good time. So, while I still managed to save
back some and make my purchase when we went back to the States, I
did learn to spend the money freely. A lesson I learned perhaps too
well.
Then one day while I was in college
and driving to my local bank in Tuscaloosa, Alabama to deposit my
refund check from the U.S. Treasury, I held it up and stared at it
in disbelief. I knew that getting a refund back was far
better than owing money and going on an installment plan to make
monthly payments to the IRS. But I couldn’t help but stare at its
pale yellow background emblazoned with the statue of liberty on
it. Since I was all too familiar with these checks. They were
the ones I’d seen the peasants cash back in my father’s business in
Mexico. And somehow it had never occurred to me that I would one
day receive one of those, as well. But upon glancing at the amount,
it occurred to me that I had a lot more work to do before I could
match their sums. And now I understood first-hand where they
came from.
https://www.facebook.com/LuisaKayReyesWriter/
http://www.amazon.com/author/luisakayreyeswriter/