I am a child of immigrants. I know I might not look, talk, dress, or act "foreign", but I am. My friend is from Argentina and when he picks up the phone and chats with his mom in Spanish, no one looks at him with the same expression they look at me. You know the one I'm talking about: the holy-shit-what-in-the-world-what-language-could-you-possibly-be-speaking look. Yeah... that one. I'm definitely used to it, but it still gets me annoyed. To answer the question you're probably asking at this point: Russian. That weird language is Russian.
My parents came from two different countries... technically. My mom, or Mama as I call her, is from Russia. My dad, Papa, is from Ukraine. I say technically they're from two different countries because at the time they both left it was still the Soviet Union, one big happy family. They joke that I'm ethnically half-Ukranian but culturally full Russian because I speak Russian not Ukranian and I spent my childhood summers in Russia not Ukraine.
Everybody's parents pressure them to do well. That's their job as parents. Mine are no different -- they nag, they guilt-trip me, they scold me, they praise me. What many people don't understand is the immense pressure children of immigrants put on ourselves. My parents pressure me but they also remind me that I can do anything with my life and they will still love and support me. My parents remind me that a bad grade is not the end of the world. So why this pressure? Well, as a child of immigrants, I have a huge responsibility on my shoulders: I have to prove that every sacrifice my parents made was worth it. They came to this country not speaking the language, not even knowing each other and built the amazing family I have today. They provided me with every opportunity they possibly could. They paid for piano lessons, math tutoring, karate lessons, softball teams, and art classes. They gave me everything they had and more. There is a unique pressure on children of immigrants because we have so much more than our parents did and if they succeeded, we must too. And we must show our parents that all they ever did for us pushed us to success.
When I got an A on a difficult exam, I called them at 10pm that night to brag about it. When I found out I was being inducted into an Honor Society, I called them and casually asked if they were coming to the ceremony (even though I was wanting to shamelessly beg them to come). When I got accepted for my job, I called my mom from the parking lot after the interview to hear her pride in me. When I see that look of pride on my parents' faces I'm reminded why I work so hard.
My parents are total dorks. They really are. And sometimes I hate the fact that I grew up in a Russian household like when I have to explain to my friends why my mom just said what she did. Or when I have to lie and tell my friends we have no food because I'm scared of them trying my grandma's borscht (that's a delicious Russian beet soup by the way). But despite all of it, I'm so incredibly proud of my parents, and I hope that someday I can make them just as proud.
