Lola Mendez's White House

“Miss Lola, welcome home!” I turned around to where I heard the voice coming from. It was the woman that welcomed me through the door of the big White House that my father earned fair in square. Since I did not answer to her welcoming, she looked surprised, even hurt. And since I did not want her to feel that way I replied, “Thanks.” I did not know what else to do, so I just smiled widely.

“I am Inez Reyna; I will be your help.” She introduced herself very politely.

“Well, hello, Miss Inez.”

“No, no, Miss Lola, please. Do not call me Miss Inez, call me Inez.”

“Then I guess I must be called Lola also, do not call me Miss Lola; it sounds weird.” I smiled widely.

After meeting my help, Inez, I went around the humongous household. Then I went to the ‘Oval Office’ to meet with my father, Manuel Mendez, the first Latino president of the United States.

“Daddy! The house is beautiful. It may not look all that homey, but whatever; we can work with that. Dad, Omigod I am so excited. What to do next? I think my stomach is growling, what is there to eat, Daddy?” I said so much of a handful that my father just laughed at me. Other than my dad, I heard other people laughing at me.

I looked around and saw my younger twin brothers, Adrian and Antonio, laughing lightly at my foolishness. I said, “What? I am hungry!” They just laughed some more. So I changed the subject to get my way, “Dad, what room will I sleep in?”

He said, “Which room will you want? If you know what you want, that is.”

I thought about it a little, and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis came to mind, “I want to sleep where Jacqueline Kennedy used to sleep at, when JFK occupied office.”

I knew that he was thinking if I deserved the room, which I know I did. Before he decided not to give me the room I pleaded, “Dad, if I stay in this house for four years, as your term will me terminated; no pun intended, then I want, no, I need to stay at where Jackie O stayed, please dad!”

And so I got the room. After a few debates of whether I should get it or not, they were going to do renovations. I understood, as long as I had it.

As I’ve said to my father and brothers I claimed I was hungry. So I ran downstairs with my three year old sister Yana by my side into the kitchen where ten or so people occupied. I guess they were busy but when one of the chefs said, “Miss Lola, Miss Yana, what would you guys like to have?”

I looked at my sister and she said she wanted a burger, which four people worked on right away. Since I saw that they would pounce on whatever I wanted right that second that I announced it I said I wanted strawberry gelato. And I got it in time for my hunger.

“Wanna go play.” Yana said in her excited tone.

“Okay, let’s go outside.”

I led her to the Rose Garden; I’ve saw so many pictures but have never imagined it was more perfect than those computer pics. There were tulips and roses and carnations and all kinds of flowers. Why do they call it the Rose Garden if it were mixed flowers? I thought to myself.

Everything still has not sunken in at this moment that I’ve spent only a few hours at the White House. Yana I guess is pretty much at home: She was sitting on the grass playing with her yellow summer dress. Her black Keds were untied so I tied them as she leaned on me for support and I needed mine so I knelt one of my knees onto the grass. I noticed that the tight capris that I was wearing were white. Oops, my bad.

After that little incident, I knew better not to leave my little sister alone. Or me alone with her, at that. I knew we were both trouble, but whatever. Yana and I walked across the rooms of the White House (from the meeting rooms to the formal rooms to the dining rooms to the executive rooms to the private rooms) and found nothing really interesting. As a thirteen year old, nothing interests me unless it has something to do with my phone and iPod; so the White House was an exciting thing, and I was so full of energy in knowing so much about it, but was not in any of my interest category. So to say, my sister and I got bored easily, after checking tons and tons of rooms out.

Then, we saw our mother, Allie, in the Lincoln bedroom. She spotted us also and was about to greet us when her face turned sour. “What?” I asked, mid-step.

“What? You ask what, Lola Mendez? You ask what? Look at you!” She bent down and patted my knees full of green stuff; I’m guessing from the grass, and frowned.

After looking at my sister carefully, she made a face. “Baby, what have Lola done to you? Que olor! You smell, sweetie.” She then turned to me and had me some scolding. I just nodded at the right time and it lasted about four minutes, give or take a few seconds. Before she left me she said with a smile, “Go wash yourself, you stink also.”

Just to show you that even First Children does what ‘Normal Children’ do: we get called names we don’t like, we get laughed at, we plead for things we are desperate to have, and of course; we get scolded at.