It's 5:30 a.m. and the morning's night is cold and the further distance outside of the city limits the more quiet it is. As the coffee brews and my mind begins to realize that I'm awake, I smell the familiar scent that travels through every Valluco's nose, one that is strange to the outsider, but an embrace of home to the natives: tortillas. While coffee has an aroma that allows most to start their day, the smell of freshly hand-made tortillas puts it to shame. It's Sunday. A day where masses will gather to celebrate Diosito and praise Him for the cross. It's a time of mariachi. It's a time for the mariachi to shine their boots and tune their instruments before driving to the church. It's a time for fathers to be at HEB, Junior's, Jesse's, or Dorita's shopping for the best meat and seasoning at 6:00 a.m. It's a time for hijos y hijas to wake up and make sure their siblings are getting ready for church while moms, abuelitas (who we called "bueli"), and cousins are getting the food in order so when they get back from church, they can begin cooking.

It's Sunday. A day where families will worship the tradition of religion through the church. It's a time where families will become one despite the events that passed during the week. It's a day where children are made much of at church and during the BBQ. It's a time where the party begins at 12:00 p.m. and we don't believe in invitations.

It's Sunday. A day where families from los barrios go over to everyone else's home to celebrate the arrival of Sunday. It's a time where fathers begin their weekly routine of lighting the fire: some with charcoal over a cast-iron BBQ pit, some with mesquite logs over a caja de muerto, and others with kindle, twigs, and large branches in between three cinder blocks on the ground with a grill set on top. It's a time where rituals mean nothing more than bringing the family together.

It's Sunday. A time where the poor are rich. It's a time where jokes are made and the laughing is so hard that one needs to be fanned down because they may choke on the very air they're trying to breathe. It's a time where soccer games are played- "Football es para los americanos." It's a time for service and the communion of family.

It's Sunday.

Hasta,

El Oso