For me, I grew up as the first American in my blood line. My mother is Venezuelan so arepas, carne mechada and "bendicion" before I went to bed was the norm with my mother. My father is Argentinean so I grew up with asados and World Cup soccer permeating my summer air every four years. It's an adventure, and it is for sure unfamiliar to my American friends.
Growing up, I was the guinea pig in my family. We had no idea how things were done at school or in the community, but we tried. We tried and tried again to understand what was the norm. Thanksgiving became a holiday in my family where we gave thanks to the things we were grateful for, and we sat around a table with turkey and (of course) Spanish ham. Fourth of July, my parents realized that this holiday was all about red, white and blue, and they would drive us to the beach to watch the fireworks and help us embrace our American pride.
That didn't stop us from keeping our Spanish traditions, though. Was it really New Year's Eve if we didn't have a suitcase, our passport and twelve grapes in our possession to stroll around the neighborhood when the clock strikes midnight? Yes. We, a group of about 30 Hispanics, all do that with our yellow underwear on. Was it really a family dinner if we didn't have rice and chicken on the table? Don't forget the adobo. Mom never forgot the adobo. Was it really a Tuesday night if you didn't watch a novella with your abuela? No, it really wasn't. Being Hispanic growing up was full of different accents, delicious food, loud parties with salsa, embracing your dark hair, tanned skin and natural curves and vivaporu when you felt sick.
But, it wasn't always a party or fun. Growing up Hispanic, I didn't have my parents correct me on my pronunciation of words. I had to be the one to help my parents with their work emails or translate certain things for them. Their American life was a result of me learning in school how to speak and write. Sure, they went to work every day and spoke the language, but it's different. Most children get to speak beautifully because their parents have exposed them to this language, but I was building my vocabulary by reading books, struggling with comprehension and telling the stories to my parents. My parents didn't know how things worked with politics. I would be the one to come home and explain it to them as I watched their face awe with fascination. I was the one studying with them with flashcards for the American citizenship test. My parents and I were very integrated with the American culture, but growing up Hispanic made it hard because I had to learn them both.
Everyone underestimates the amount of work that Hispanics make to become part of this country. Coming here with nothing but the clothes on your back and the determination to make opportunities for yourself in this country, Hispanics (and other immigrants, of course) start with zero and build their empire up. They learn the language, they become familiar with the social norms, and they leave the country to come to a new place to thrive and watch their children achieve great things.
So, thank you, Mom and Dad. You did it. You gave me the best possible life I could imagine.
