Big Bushy Mustache

Big Bushy Mustache
By Gary Soto

People always said Ricky looked just like his mother.
“He has beautiful eyes, exactly like yours, Rosa!” said
Mrs. Sanchez, the crossing guard, as his mother took him to
school one morning.
“Thanks!” Ricky’s mother shouted, and turned a big smile
on him. “Have a good day, mi’jo.” Then she gave him a kiss.
Ricky went into school frowning. He was a boy. Whydidn’t people say he looked like his father?
That morning his teacher, Mrs. Cortez, brought out a
large box from the closet and set it on her desk. She took
out a hat and a sarape. She took out a sword and raised it
toward the ceiling.
“Class, for our next unit we’re going to do a play about
Cinco de Mayo. That’s a holiday that celebrates the Mexican
victory over the French army.”
Mrs.Cortez looked around the room. Her eyes were
settled on Ricky. “Ricky, do you want to carry the sword?”
Ricky shook his head no.
“Do you want to wear this white shirt?” she asked.
Again Ricky shook his head no. And he shook his head to
the sombrero, the captain’s hat, the purple cape, the tiny
Mexican flag.
But when Mrs. Cortez took out a big, bushy mustache,
something clicked. This timeRicky nodded yes.
For the rest of the day, the class practiced their parts.
Some of the children played Mexican soldiers. Some of the
children played French soldiers.
All the while, Ricky played with his mustache. It tickled
his lip. It made him feel tough.
When school was over, Mrs. Cortez told the class to leave
the costumes in their desks.
Ricky took off his mustache. But instead ofleaving it
behind, he put it in his pocket. He wanted to take it home.
He wanted to surprise his father when he got home from
work.
Maybe Mami will take a picture of us, he thought. We
could stand next to each other in front of our new car.
After Ricky left the school, he pressed the mustache
back onto his lip. He felt grown-up.
A man on the street called out, “Hello, soldier.”
Ricky passed awoman carrying groceries. She said,
“What a handsome young man.”
He passed a kindergartner, who said, “Mister, would you
help me tie my shoes?”
Ricky laughed and ran home. He climbed the wooden
steps, pushed open the door, and rushed into the kitchen,
where his mother was peeling apples.
“Hola, Mami!” he said. “I’m hungry.”
He looked up and waited for her to say something about
his big,bushy mustache.
But she only smiled and handed him a slice of apple.
“Mi’jo, wash your hands and help me with the apples,” she
said.
Ricky’s smile disappeared. Didn’t she notice?
“Look, Mami. Isn’t my bigote great?” he said, tugging at
her apron.
His mother looked at him.
“Bigote? What are you talking about?”
“This one,” he said. He touched his lip, but the mustache
was gone! He feltaround his face. It was not on his cheek.
It was not on his chin. He looked down to the floor, but it
wasn’t there, either.
I must have lost it on the way home, Ricky thought.
Without saying anything, he ran out the front door.
He retraced his steps, eyes wide open. He dug through a
pile of raked leaves. He parted the tall grass that grew along
the fence. He looked in the street, between parkedcars, and
in flower beds.
He jumped with hope when he saw a black thing. But
when he bent over to pick it up, he discovered that it was a
squashed crayon.
Ricky sat on the curb and cried. The mustache was gone.
When he got home, Ricky told his mother what had
happened. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and hugged
him.
At dinner, he wanted to tell Papi too, but the words would
not comeout. They were stuck in his throat.
He watched his father’s big, bushy mustache move up and
down when he chewed.
Under his breath, Ricky whispered, “Mustache,” but his
father didn’t hear. He talked about his work.
After dinner, Ricky went to his bedroom. With a black
crayon, he colored a sheet of paper and then cut into the
shape of a mustache. He taped it to his mouth and stood
before...