vení pacá

 "Vení" es la forma de imperativo de la persona "vos" para la forma "venir". La raíz es completamente regular lo que contrasta con el imperativo de tuteo "ven" o con otras formas verbales de la misma entrada léxica altamente irregulares como "ven", "viene", "vengo", "vine" o "viniera". La razón por la que es regular es dónde cae el acento. En "ven" "viene" y "vengo" el acento está en la primera sílaba, y esto resultó afectado históricamente debido a que eran las vocales largas del latín. En imperativo de voseo, como dice el villancico "venite adoremus", era a la vez una forma de plural y en latín tardío una manera altamente formal de dirigirse a una figura de poder.

"Venite" evolucionó al sonido "venide" luego "veníe" y finalmente "vení", pero otro camino de su evolución fue "venide", y entonces "venid", que fue en español medieval tanto una forma de "vos" y la manera de expresar el plural informal "vosotros". Se dice que "venid" y "vení" se quedaron bastante tiempo como alternativas de "vos", pero "vení" fue perdiendo fuerza como alternativa de "vosotros", aunque en mi documentación tengo algunos casos de "vení" plural.

La entrada "venir" implica un desplazamiento físico hacia el hablante, es decir, la persona que emite el verbo "venir". Por eso la expresión "vení" indica una orden o comando de desplazamiento hacia la persona que dice "vení". Esta fuerte relación con el hablante se denomina un componente "deíctico" (de dedo, por tanto que señala a alguien). 

La palabra "acá" tiene el mismo contenido deíctico. Se refiere precisamente al lugar donde se encuentra el hablante. Resulta un poco redundante "vení para acá" por cuanto dos palabras reiteran el hablante como lugar hacia donde se espera el desplazamiento, o sea que es como decir "entrar para adentro" o más corto "entrar paentro". Sin embargo, una orden categórica puede ser redundante debido a que el hablante se posiciona como sujeto de poder: yo puedo ser redundante si quiero y nadie me va a corregir. A la vez, la reiteración indica una mayor urgencia en el comando que se emite.

Por su parte, la expresión "pacá" es el acortamiento de dos palabras "para" y "acá", que pasan por un proceso fonológico o de cambio de sonido parecido al que explicamos en otra entrada con "careteta". Y así las cosas:

1. para acá (forma ideal) 

2. paracá (fusión de aes)

3. paracá (debilitamiento de r)

4. paacá (desaparición de r)

5. pacá (fusión de aes, y forma final)

"Vení pacá" es una forma muy común en caleñol o español colombiano de Cali (ver entrada de "caleñol" aquí y digo "aquí" no "acá" porque yo no estoy allí, sino que estoy señalando un punto específico). Existe una serie de literatura infantil donde la personaje central, denominada "abuela terrible", siempre dice la expresión "vení pacá" cuando va a transformarse de abuela normal a abuela terrible.

Vea aquí.

abuela terrible / terrible grandma

The series “Abuela terrible” collects family stories based on real anecdotes, written in colloquial Colombian Spanish but translated into English for bilingual children and for use in bilingual schools. It is a resource designed for read-aloud sessions, with colorful drawings that add content to the main text. It evolves from a very simple story titled “Abuela terrible versus ratón,” which integrates Spanglish into a single inseparable system, to “Abuela terrible versus camión,” which separates the languages in an interaction integrated with the illustrations. The last two books in the series are “Abuela terrible versus terremoto,” which introduces more strategies so that Spanish-speaking or English-speaking readers can sound out the letters even if they don’t know the language. The illustrations were carefully created by Sabina VV, the pseudonym of the eight-year-old girl who invented the story together with her mother.

The idea was born one summer when my daughter kept asking me for stories about my family. Many of them she would ask for again and again, and each time I added a new detail that made her laugh even more. We were already using the nickname “abuela peligrosa” to make fun of my mom, from an anecdote similar to what happens in “Abuela terrible versus camión.” But the name “Grandma Dangerous” was already taken, so we changed it to “Abuela terrible.” When I told her that I had some stories ready to publish, she said she wanted to illustrate them. In the end, we decided not to start with those draft stories (which were being reviewed by a publisher—though they ended up rejecting them anyway), but rather with the family stories, and the recurring character of the “abuela terrible” had potential to create new tales.

We were going through a family tragedy—the loss of my job. She wanted to help support the family financially, so we explored the possibility of earning some money by putting the books on Amazxn. We would climb onto the trampoline to sketch drafts of the drawings, and she would jump every time she got a new idea. I learned a lot from a child’s perspective in storytelling, because she corrected me whenever my ideas sounded too grown-up or too hard for children to understand. I also learned much more about the feedback loop between drawing and text, where strong collaboration between writer and illustrator amplifies the meaning you want to convey.

My daughter was born here in the United States and is fluently bilingual in Colombian Spanish and North American Western English. In that special connection, I felt inspired to capture the oral language that emerged naturally in our interactions, to give readers tools to make it sound in their own reading, and not to censor content out of fear of criticism. This is deeply emotional content for me as the author, because the perspective of its reception forces me to face the need to protect my daughter from the cruelty of the world. It is far from ideal to start a project in the midst of the insecurities that come with losing a job, but once the idea was planted there was no turning back—only finding ways to cope with the emotions that came along the way.

The most excited about the project, of course, was my mom, the main source of the stories, and she has been an important support throughout this process. Thanks to this, Sabina gave me the idea of creating the story where Abuela terrible becomes a superhero to support the adult daughter going through a hard time, and later on—just like in Don Quixote—to write the story where Abuela terrible reads the book of Abuela terrible.

The stories are endless, but the interaction with the illustrations is very meticulous work, where legal compliance details also come into play, and each illustrated 50-page book ends up taking much longer to produce than a 150-page novel.

Readers in the United States and Europe can find the books on Amazxn, and in Colombia, they can contact my mom.