Next-door border cross

Just after my neighbor’s brother lead me to a chair, I looked upward in awe, trying to figure out how they had transformed their modest backyard into a massive dining area in less than one afternoon. The ceiling definitely wasn’t a professional tent rental, but the original design using blue and gray tarps from Cruz’s roofing company made the covering just as functional and maybe more elaborate. Hundreds of feet of paper decorations, hand-made over weeks, set the perfect ambience for their son’s baptism celebration.
As I glanced at the rest of my family, we all seemed to be sharing the same thought: how did the 75-yard-walk from our house suddenly make us feel like we were in a different country?
Our answers unraveled as the evening continued.
We had moved next to Antonio and Josephina, godparents to Cruz’s son, Christian, about a year earlier, and thought we knew a lot about their lives. They had moved here from Mexico about eight years ago. Antonio works in construction, and Josephina shared my stay-at-home mom career.
They had mentioned a few days earlier that they were hosts to Christian’s baptism celebration and wanted us to come. With an outdoor party in late May, we assumed it would be a casual backyard cookout, but rhinestone-peppered cocktail dresses and polished cake-plate sized belt buckles quickly proved us wrong. I sheepishly glanced down at my cheap Wal-Mart cotton sundress and wanted to run home and change, but their welcoming manners made me realize how unnecessary that would be. As if to prove that point, the guest-of-honor’s mother ran over and pinned tiny hand-made white pillows trimmed in blue lace onto our chests to mark us as guests of the special occasion. Cruz followed carrying plates piled high with chicken, pork and rice. My mother’s face delivered a priceless reaction as her plate arrived full of the boiled pork skins that had just hung from a wire line in the barn.
When the elaborate, three-sectioned white-and-blue glazed cake emerged from the kitchen a few hours later, I was relieved to see the unassuming chocolate pound cake I had brought had been left inside.
As the afternoon faded to evening, the deejay’s speakers got louder and our attempts at Mexican dance moves got braver. Well after midnight, we stumbled home and crashed into bed. The next day, I rehashed the previous night’s experiences and realized that although everyday life might be casual for them, life’s big moments meant raising the bar considerably. I smiled at the photos I had snapped and made a mental note: the next time an invitation comes from the hill, I’ll leave the plain cake at home and wear rhinestones.