The Art of Cuban Time
In the lovely city of Miami and for the rest of the United States, there seems to be a system in which people follow and it’s called a schedule/time/clocks. If you know me, you know one thing: I AM LATE FOR EVERYTHING! But why? Growing up, my crazy Jersey mother would always yell this remark to ease my running around like a mad women (with chancletas on nonetheless) when I realized I was running behind, “No te preocupas. You’re Cuban. You’re allowed to be late.” Ever since, my excuse has always been that I follow Cuban Time. Instead of being fashionably late, I’m just running on Cuban Time. This brings me to the beauty of why Cubans are just another group to love, with patience of course. The time doesn’t matter but their presence does.
Growing up I learned this habit from my parents. When you went to a birthday party, the card may have said 1 pm and but you would usually arrive at 3pm and usually because you had to bring Abuela. It has been instilled to my very core that whenever someone tells you a time you add at least 30 minutes to an hour to that time. Trust me, running on Cuban time might irk many, but does anyone want a angry Cuban at his or her party?
…..Ay lo que pica el gallo
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She also knows that when I am home from any deployment in the middle-east it’s back to military time not Cuban time. Her mother is always on that time zone, why I’ll never know?