Ca-ma-ro-nes,” Anthony said, with a trill of the tongue over the third syllable. Between his bald head, his steroid-swollen jowls, and his tiny gold pinkie ring—“bling from my Papi,” as he called it—the 4-year-old looked like Tony Soprano's long-lost son. My lack of ability to speak Spanish irked Anthony, especially after he tried to tell me about his favorite food, shrimp, using the Spanish word. I responded that I liked macaroni, too, and then Anthony proceeded to school me about the word “camarones.”