The Birth of Chepe Dickwad

A star is born, a legend is made. A hero is forged at the crucible of good and evil. Martyrs are remembered and a story is whispered that makes you weep and weak at your knees. Such are the times that we remember. Oh stories, how we love thee. We tell them all the time. People tell stories to remember and stories to forget. People even tell stories about stories. Meta-stories, shaping our lives like layers of an onion. Stories upon stories, like turtles resting upon turtles, all the way down and forever more. Here’s a recent story, one that will undoubtedly evoke the sentiments I have just traced in the opening statements of this post. Follow the line and together we may pose with the same ardor and sentiment with which Nietzsche inquired about the rise and fall of Greek tragedy, the following question:

“Oh Chepe Dickwad, from whence has thou come?”

Oedipus, don’t fight destiny, and Prometheus, mock the Gods at your own peril. Sisyphus, don’t look up and stay the course. As for Chepe, well, it’s too early to pronounce the mythical significance. Let us begin, shall we?

First, some guiding remarks will no doubt facilitate understanding. And so, understand this:

Leslie = no swearing = no euphemistic curse words (such as "freakin'") = no pejorative slang terms

Joseph = Jody = Jose = Chepe = Chepe Dickwad

That is the foundation upon which we stand. The rest is salad dressing for life’s iceberg lettuces.

Joseph is the father of Kate, and goes by the moniker of Jody. As part of their back and forth banter, Jody is called, on occasion, and with loving sentiment, “Jose” by Leslie, his wife, and Kate’s mother.

In the car, traveling over bumpy terrain, Kate explained the following to her mom, as we soaked in the Monteverde air. “Mother, when someone goes to San Jose, it can be said that they are going to “Chepe”. “Oh?...”, replied Leslie, as she sometimes does.

“Yes mother, for Chepe is the nickname given to those of the name Jose.”

"So, oh wise daughter, might it be said then, that I might call your loving father - and my dear husband - Chepe?".

"Why yes, Mother, you are correct."

Indeed. And so we may speed our narrative various days forward, to the 15th day of December in the year 2010.  On our way to the airport, we idled, waiting in line at a traffic light in Escazu. Green indicated that we could - and in fact should - move forward, and so we did. The events that followed were in no way unique, and therefore, certainly not special; for had they not taken place, then we would be in a position to note the out-of-routine character of the events that unfolded. But alas, it was routine all the way, scripted from A to Z, and with the taken-for-grantedness with which we carry out most of our daily proceedings, we advanced a bit, only to be cut off by a speedy driver, in a rush no doubt, traveling in a Volkswagen Touareg.

“Hmmmm. MMMMMMMMMMMMphhhh”, I must have mustered menacingly.

“Oh look at you Mr. Touareg Dickwad!!!” exclaimed Jody.

And then it came, out of the only place from which true creation can come, and with the unfettered charm that accompanies pure creation: Leslie uttered:

“Oh look at you!”, referring to Jody. “You would have done the same, Mr. Chepe Dickwad!”

And hence, a legend was born.

That was it and that is all, for that is all this story is about. To add more would be to add confusion, no doubt. So I’ll leave it there as it most definitely left us, with plenty to think about, or else, to not think at all. For isn’t the base of the story of Chepe Dickwad, the true story of us all?

Toodles,
Ernesto