Mexican Dad (or Jesus Wis a Car Penter)

Mexican Dad (or "Jesus Wis A Car Penter")

Rumour was going round our school that Billy's dad was a Mexican called
Sancho Panza.
This puzzled me as Billy's second name was Davidson and his Mum's name
was Mrs Davidson, or at least that was what we called her when we went
round for Billy. I had watched him going into their house from my
hideout in the bushes where Sean and me had broken the fence ages
ago.
He had a moustache that was quite long and in the style that my Dad
called a Zapata or Che Guevara moustache. He had long sideburns too and
always seemed to have a suntan , even in the winter.
I had never seen him wearing a sombrero , though.
Maybe he just wore it in the house. Nobody would be able to laugh at
him there.
He didn't say much when we went round. He just sat smoking cigarettes
and grunting every so often when he wanted Mrs Davidson to get him a
cup of tea or a biscuit.
Maybe if he talked properly he would pronounce the word "Mister" as
"Meester" or "Bandit" as "Bandeet". Just like the Mexicans I had seen
on the cowboy films I watched at Gran's on Sunday afternoons.

Sean and I were in Sean's shed drawing pictures of Sancho Panza.They
were like those mug shots in the movies. These papers became known as
"The Documents" and I kept them in a folder I had nicked from
school.
I wrote the words "Top Secret" in ball point pen and kept the folder
under my bed as if I was one of the men on 'Mission Impossible'.
I kept a toy gun under my pillow in case of attacks by enemy agents
during the night.

Sean used to tease me that Jesus was a Mexican and his named was
pronounced as "Hayzoo" in the Mexican lingo. He told me that Jesus was
a car painter too.
I told him not to be stupid, Jesus was a CARPENTER and anyway cars
weren't invented until my gran was born . He was born in Bethlehem and
even I knew that was nowhere near Mexico!.
I knew better than Sean , the minister in church had told us all about
Jesus , so I was right !.
I lay in bed that night wondering , how could Billy's dad be a
Mexican?. His mum never wore Mexican type clothes, although I had seen
her once all dressed up in a bright orange trouser suit when she and
Sancho were going out on a Saturday night.
I would ask my Dad, he always had all the answers.
As the light from the streetlamp streamed in through the gap in the
curtains , I looked out the window. I imagined Sancho on the prowl with
his poncho and sombrero on, lurking in the shadows with his gun in his
hand, his face pooled in darkness.
He would come up to the window waving the pistol and saying "Don't you
fucking draw pictures of me , you little bastard!". This was said not
in a Mexican accent, but in the gruff tones of the down town
Aberdonian.
I woke up with a start. It had all been a dream. I pulled back the
blankets and scrambled from the bed. I raked frantically under the bed
for the folder.... It was gone.
I looked at the clock beside the bed . It was only ten'o' clock . Dad
or Mum must have it , or maybe one of my brothers had nicked the
folder.Or maybe Sancho had been there..
I would find out in the morning, I thought as I turned over and dropped
off.