STEVE FLORES: Roller derby, big-time wrestling and easy-over eggs - The Bakersfield Californian

Hearing my maternal Grandma swear was as unusual as seeing a moonbow.

Grandma Ochoa was a saint. After my mom passed away from leukemia, my maternal Grandma came to live with us in our small home in southeast Bakersfield. She helped my dad raise me, my four brothers, three sisters and our dog Heidi. She was a devout Catholic who made sure everyone in our home received their sacraments, attended Mass for every known saint day, rosary and religious services known to Catholicism.

There are only three times I have ever heard my Grandma swear.

Roller derby

We were all sitting in our small living room watching roller derby being broadcast from the Olympic Auditorium in Los Angeles. The match between the Los Angeles T-Birds and their heated rivals the Texas Outlaws was about to begin. The national anthem was beginning when beloved LA T-Bird skaters Ralphie Valladares and Sally Vega were ambushed by the Texas Outlaws’ Shirley Hardman and “Psycho” Ronnie Raines.

The outrage by TV announcer Dick Lane describing the incident was no match for the awe and fury of my saintly Grandma who became possessed by a swearing entity none of us had ever seen before. Our devout Catholic Grandma had to excuse herself after the incident and smoke a cigarette in our front yard.

Big-time wrestling

The aches and pains of her arthritis made it difficult for my saintly Grandma to walk up the short flight of stairs to her favorite sitting area. We were always, and I mean always, the first in line for every “Big Time” wrestling event at Strelich Stadium. As I helped her up the stairs and we settled into her unobscured “seating perch” directly above the wrestlers' entrance into the arena, I always worried how the loudness and compressed testosterone energy of the event might affect my delicate and fragile Grandma. This was long before the glitz and glamour of the World Wrestling Federation.

As the preliminary matches started to give way to the crescendo of the coming main event, my Grandma’s ailments slowly began to dissipate ... including her saintly vernacular. By the time “Classy” Freddie Blassie was in the middle of the ring trying to gnaw off The Destroyer’s ear, any semblance of saintliness and arthritic joint pain had been exorcised from my Grandma.

Her language would have embarrassed the most seasoned sailors while etymologists everywhere would probably have loved to study how, with the slightest shift in inflection, she effortlessly changed the context and meaning of her bilingual curse words.

Broken egg yoke

A seemingly bottomless red can of lard sat permanently next to my Grandma’s stove. I can still see her scoop her well-used silver serving spoon into the lard. I can hear the sizzle as she gently flopped the lard into the frying pan. Add the living room stereo playing Eydie Gorme and Los Trio Panchos’ album and well, it was almost theater.

My maternal Grandma made the best over-easy eggs. It may seem like a fairly simple thing to make. There was something special about the flavor, consistency and love you could see, smell and taste with each egg.

God forbid if she accidentally broke the yolk while making an easy-over egg. We considered it a DEFCON 1 kitchen incident and was almost a form of family entertainment for us. My siblings and I would stand back, wait, and listen for the explosion of bilingual swear words as she threw the failed breakfast cuisine into the trash.

My saintly Grandma has been gone many years, but I still savor the taste of those easy-over eggs.

My son-in-law Carlos reminded me of my saintly Grandma’s swearing episodes last Saturday as he was trying to replicate her easy-over eggs. He comes very close. I really appreciate him for trying. While cooking, he broke the egg yolk and began to curse. Rather than remind him of my house policy of no swearing, I sat down with my coffee, smiled and told him the Grandma swearing stories I am sharing with you now.

Thanks, Carlos, for reminding me how the littlest things in life can take up the most room in our hearts.

Did I mention my Grandma was a saint?

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STEVE FLORES: Roller derby, big-time wrestling and easy-over eggs - The Bakersfield Californian
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