Uno Character Analysis

Not only is Uno the only Black kid in the neighborhood—or negrito, as the old Mexicans call him (even though his moms is Mexican, too)—he’s also stronger, quicker, taller, a better fighter. It’s his time.

Back in Leucadia, he made a pact with himself. No more words. Or as few as he could possibly get away with. When his dad spoke at all, he mostly spoke Spanish, but Danny never learned. All he had was his mom’s English. And he didn’t want that anymore.

But what I wanted to tell you, Dad, is how much I’ve changed since that day. How much better I am. How much stronger and darker and more Mexican I am. Matter of fact, just today I knocked some kid out.

As a kid he used to have this crazy recurring dream: Some blur of a hooded black man was chasing him through a dark cemetery. […] Finally he’d leap at Uno’s feet like a football player, drag him down by his ankles. Pinned to the ground, Uno would look up at where the guy’s face should have been, but there was no face. There was only this huge scar, shaped just like Senior’s […].

Watching Randy run a hand through his short sandy-blond hair, Danny shook his head. The way his dad might. Of course, he thought, a white guy.

Danny stares at his uncle. The bulging veins in his forehead are the same veins he used to see in his dad’s forehead. The same crazed eyes.

Nothing hypes him up more than when people are watching him. Especially white people. In every other part of life they run shit, just like his old man says, but not when it comes to sports.

It’s like this story my teacher was telling us. About the guy who spends all day rolling a boulder up a hill and then, when he gets to the top, he just lets it roll back down. That myth or whatever. I mean, what kind of shit is that? What’s the point?

Like I told you, dawg, the old man was on mad substances back then. He all changed now. A cool guy. But sometimes when I walk out on this field, man, I remember that shit. The look on his face and how scared I was.

When he sees a hawk soaring around in the sky, he pretends it’s been sent all the way from Mexico by his dad. To look after him. And then it goes back to Mexico to report what it sees. He knows it’s just kid stuff, but he does it anyways.

What up, girl? Your boy can’t get no invite? This movie’s only for full-on Mexicans? They can’t let nobody in if he got a drop of brother?

Man, I ain’t never gonna make it to Oxnard. Shit ain’t meant to be.

Ernesto steps through the bedroom door and stands over Uno, fists clenched. “And next time you don’t put the trash out I throw your black ass out with it, you hear?”

My pops is into God, man. Jesus up in heaven and all that. And maybe he’s right. But sometimes I think maybe God’s down here. In regular everyday stuff. Like the power of a train.

We all start out believing we can do anything. Even Mexican kids that grow up here. But at some point we lose it. It totally disappears. Like me, for example. Why is that?

This is just a game. Two guys with smiles trying to get the better of each other. This is simple. This makes sense. This is what he loves.

Not only is Uno the only Black kid in the neighborhood—or negrito, as the old Mexicans call him (even though his moms is Mexican, too)—he’s also stronger, quicker, taller, a better fighter. It’s his time.

Back in Leucadia, he made a pact with himself. No more words. Or as few as he could possibly get away with. When his dad spoke at all, he mostly spoke Spanish, but Danny never learned. All he had was his mom’s English. And he didn’t want that anymore.

But what I wanted to tell you, Dad, is how much I’ve changed since that day. How much better I am. How much stronger and darker and more Mexican I am. Matter of fact, just today I knocked some kid out.

As a kid he used to have this crazy recurring dream: Some blur of a hooded black man was chasing him through a dark cemetery. […] Finally he’d leap at Uno’s feet like a football player, drag him down by his ankles. Pinned to the ground, Uno would look up at where the guy’s face should have been, but there was no face. There was only this huge scar, shaped just like Senior’s […].

Watching Randy run a hand through his short sandy-blond hair, Danny shook his head. The way his dad might. Of course, he thought, a white guy.

Danny stares at his uncle. The bulging veins in his forehead are the same veins he used to see in his dad’s forehead. The same crazed eyes.

Nothing hypes him up more than when people are watching him. Especially white people. In every other part of life they run shit, just like his old man says, but not when it comes to sports.

It’s like this story my teacher was telling us. About the guy who spends all day rolling a boulder up a hill and then, when he gets to the top, he just lets it roll back down. That myth or whatever. I mean, what kind of shit is that? What’s the point?

Like I told you, dawg, the old man was on mad substances back then. He all changed now. A cool guy. But sometimes when I walk out on this field, man, I remember that shit. The look on his face and how scared I was.

When he sees a hawk soaring around in the sky, he pretends it’s been sent all the way from Mexico by his dad. To look after him. And then it goes back to Mexico to report what it sees. He knows it’s just kid stuff, but he does it anyways.

What up, girl? Your boy can’t get no invite? This movie’s only for full-on Mexicans? They can’t let nobody in if he got a drop of brother?

Man, I ain’t never gonna make it to Oxnard. Shit ain’t meant to be.

Ernesto steps through the bedroom door and stands over Uno, fists clenched. “And next time you don’t put the trash out I throw your black ass out with it, you hear?”

My pops is into God, man. Jesus up in heaven and all that. And maybe he’s right. But sometimes I think maybe God’s down here. In regular everyday stuff. Like the power of a train.

We all start out believing we can do anything. Even Mexican kids that grow up here. But at some point we lose it. It totally disappears. Like me, for example. Why is that?

This is just a game. Two guys with smiles trying to get the better of each other. This is simple. This makes sense. This is what he loves.