Olvera Street - Mexican Dancing Beans

      I was a curious 6-year-old when I went on a field trip to Olvera Street. It was 1983. Miss Nelson, my portly yet cute first grade teacher, took us to the famous cultural landmark and tourist trap in downtown Los Angeles. A few of my memories from that day are a blur, but I do remember with vivid detail my treasured souvenir: Mexican jumping beans.

     My frugal and overprotective grandmother, with whom I was living during most of my childhood, gave me a few bucks to spend on a "pasalubong" (souvenir in Tagalog). I was excited. After riding in a school bus for a half hour southbound on the 101, taunting big-rig drivers to honk their horns, we arrived at our destination. It was an ideal Southern California day, blessed with warm sunshine and blue skies. 

     Miss Nelson led us into the vibrant street and into one of many cramped stores filled to the ceiling with colorful leather chanclas, festive-hued ceramic bowls and vibrant panchos. Miss Nelson kept a close eye on all of us while our sticky little fingers explored virtually everything. The smell of carne asada tacos and fresh-dried paint wafted through the tiendita.

     I scanned the tiny shop. A stack of clear boxes sitting next to the cash register caught my eye. I was curious about what was in them. From where I was standing, I imagined that the boxes encased small pins that had "Olvera Street" painted on them, but as I approached, I found small brown beans instead. I asked the store worker what they were. "Mexican jumping beans," she answered. I picked up one of the boxes and held it close to my face. More curious, I asked her, "What makes them jump?" No answer. I turned back to the small clear box in my hand and stared at the beans until I saw one of them slightly move. It was as if I willed it to stir, based on its odd moniker.

     One of them quivered. No, it was more like a jig. I decided to buy the beans as my souvenir. After I paid, I did a beeline toward my best friend Jena and showed her what I got. Her eyes lit up when I told her what they were as she showed me the colorful coin purse she had just purchased. We smiled.

     Miss Nelson signaled for us to exit the store. Our class walked single-file to the plaza area to have lunch. I held the box in my hand, as if it were a rare treasure. Once we got to the plaza, we sat in a circle and ate our sack lunches. Our teacher gave us free time to eat and play with our souvenirs. I quickly gobbled my soggy sandwich and returned to my box of jumping beans. 

     I took the beans out and placed them on the palm of my hand, enjoying the sun's warmth. Within a few seconds, they began to tremble. It was magical! "Look, Jena! They're dancing," I said to my best friend. We both watched them in amazement. It seemed that my body heat and warmth from the sun made them move. But how? I shook them, but I didn't feel anything moving inside. It was a mystery. I placed them back in the box, looking forward to playing with them at home. 

     Once I got back to my grandmother's house, I took them out of the box again. I remember thinking how neat they were. I remember the feeling of the beans being hollow on the palm of my hand. They were light and airy. I knew there was something inside, causing the movement. But what was it? I was determined to find out. 

     I took a small paring knife from the kitchen drawer when my aunt and grandmother weren't looking, and I brought one of the beans to the formal dining room table, the one they never used. Only an ivory lace tablecloth and a bowl of plastic fruits occupied the space. I was prepared to conduct surgery. That's what it seemed like to me at the moment. The suspense was killing me.

     I poked and prodded at the outer skin of the bean. Once I pierced it, my heart began to beat faster. I sliced farther into the bean until I was able to peel back the edge  with my fingernail. I peered into the hole.

     What I saw was a small white worm wiggling around. I was half-grossed out and half-amazed. In that second, the magic was gone. I wasn't wondering about it anymore. The adrenaline rush dissipated. I took the dissected bean outside and freed the worm into my grandmother's garden.

Mexican Jumping Beans are seed pods that have been

 inhabited by the larva of a small moth (Cydia deshaisiana). (Courtesy of Wikipedia)

     I walked back into the house to play with the remainder of my the beans, no longer curious, almost bored. But I also felt satisfied with knowing what was making them dance. But what I enjoyed more was the fascination of not knowing what was in them--the excitement of the possibilities. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. 

             Critical Thinking

As an adult, I often wonder about curiosity. 

1. Are you able to access that childlike innocence whenever you'd like? 

2. What piques your curiosity now? 

3. Are you still able to enjoy the magical excitement about things in this world of which you have no knowledge? 

4. Do you enjoy the satisfaction of gaining knowledge? Of discovering?