A comic strip I remember from my childhood showed Dagwood helping Blondie with the Thanksgiving dishes. He broke one, causing Blondie to say, “If you break one more plate, I won’t let you help me with the dishes anymore.” And a light bulb went on in Dagwood’s speech balloon.
Would a Spanish version of the same comic strip have used a slightly different word with a slightly different meaning?
Let me explain:
The other day, a friend said she was preparing to wash the Thanksgiving dishes. But she said it in Spanish, and the word for “wash” came out as “fregar.” I was expecting her to use the verb “lavar” for “wash.” Now anyone who grew up in northern New Mexico ought to know that in our parlance, “fregar” doesn’t refer to washing the dishes at all. “Fregar” means to bother, molest, pester, annoy.
When it was my turn to do the honors on that November holiday, back in the ‘40s and ‘50s, the term we used was “lavar los trastes (dishes).” Had I been asked to “fregar” them, I might have tried the Dagwood ploy and been barred forever from my fregaderas. And that would have earned me years of heartache.
Shortly after hearing my friend’s use of the word, I naturally looked it up. My Google dictionary translates “fregar” as scrub, scour, wash, rub or mop. Most of these synonyms are far from what we norteños think of as “fregar.” Rather, the word more commonly refers to a complaint, as in “no friegues,” meaning, “stop bothering me.” And the noun form of the word, “fregazo,” we construe as a hit, a blow, but not one that loosens teeth, bloodies noses or ends careers. The more potent action comes from the Spanish “ch-” version, which also doubles as a swear word, and its use might be one of the reasons people banned and burned “Bless Me, Ultima,” the book-turned-movie by Rudolfo Anaya. This being a family newspaper, I will spell out only the beginning of the ch- word.
Perhaps in Spanish antiquity, violence, or at least rough-housing accompanied many kitchen and laundry chores. My dictionary defines a fregador as a scrubbing brush and a fregadero as the kitchen sink.
Lest we think of “fregar” as recent vintage, note that Cervantes, around 1600, wrote a novella, “La Ilustre Fregona” (The Illustrious Dishwasher), a tale of impossible love that “falls into the hands of fortune.”
As a child, I was involved in a neighborhood round of fisticuffs which, my friends told me, I had gotten the worst of. One neighbor boy told me and the other spectators that I had been delivered a “friega,” with a hail of “fregazos” delivered upon my person. But later, yet another neighbor explained it as the Spanish “ch-” kind of beating. In minutes my injuries devolved from a simple whipping to a real beating. Well, semantics being what it is, others’ descriptions of the tussle didn’t make me feel any better — or worse.
As for the various translations of “fregar”: scrub, scour, wash, rub and mop, the last two might be most applicable to dishes and to people. Yes, if one rubs another the wrong way, the affronted person might offer to mop the floor with the offender.
• • •
During the Thanksgiving vivisection of the Dallas Cowboys, who, along with the Detroit Lions always play on Thanksgiving, but not with each other, I got ready for some post-turkey talk with three get-away students from the United World College.
Along with our next-door-neighbor son and his family, we invited three UWC students for a meal. After lunch, and before the tryptophan kicked in, I thought it would be fun to engage our visitors in conversation. I was ready to ask our guests all about Japan, Hong Kong and Finland, respectively.
But soon the discussion turned into yawns, with each girl soon falling asleep on our sofas and recliners. They remained in that state for several hours, our placing a blanket over them and adjusting the sofas to let the girls continue sawing wood.
Any mention we made of the differences between our country and theirs had been met with an “uh-uh.” In no time, they gave up the ghost in the middle of our questions about the Orient.
It had been a filling — but not overstuffing — meal they joined us for, and their somnolence was expected. So we let them dream on.
Now some people take offense at others’ sleepiness; they interpret it as boredom. In fact, my German professor of decades ago railed about our yawning, insisting we were bored and therefore discourteous. My belief is that the brain is simply craving oxygen, and when one’s struggling with the der, die, das in a foreign language, one becomes stressed. Trying to stifle a yawn only makes things worse.
In the case of the three get-away students, we actually were flattered that they felt comfortable enough to attempt 40 or even 400 winks. I can appreciated the need for UWC students to catch sleep whenever they can. My one year as a teacher at the World College made me wonder when or whether the youngsters ever found time for sleep, inasmuch as they’re loaded with classes, exams and community projects.
So, to the three get-aways, thanks for the compliment. Your slumber told us you feel comfortable with us.
Minori, Karen and Pinja, remember that the next time you visit here, you may feel free to claim your favorite sofa and catch up on sleep.
The mother of my school friend, Pete Benavidez, would use the word “frega’o” on us all the time when we were goofing off in her house, so I learned it quickly. It’s interesting to know that it means “scrub” or “wash.” I like your “kitchen sink” headline, by the way. It fits the story nicely.
Thanx, Ben.
I’d never heard the word in ref. to dishes, only to my bad behavior.