Just in time for MLK day and following the Fall 2011 release of the new children’s book, Chocolate Me, I had the opportunity to participate in a bloggers’ panel with actor and author Taye Diggs. Diggs, along with childhood friend Shane Evans, created this autobiographical story about a black boy who feels out of place in a class full of white children. He is preoccupied with his looks until his mother reassures him by telling him that he has “cotton candy hair” and “skin like velvet fudge frosting.”

At SpanglishBaby, we discuss linguistic difference and the beauty of cultural mixing often, but sometimes we forget to discuss how race plays a part in the way that our culturally enlightened niños interact with their peers. Because Latinos can be members of various races, it is important to share stories like Chocolate Me with our kids, whether they will have to confront racial identity issues themselves or simply be understanding of others who must do so.

I asked Taye how the lessons his book teaches apply to diversity unrelated to race, such as linguistic and cultural diversity. Here is his answer:

“…I think it goes back to the strength that we need to have as a family unit at home and to just provide as much of a positive perspective, including all of the races and cultures that your child possesses, so that when it comes to that point when he or she is  kind of forced to make a decision, the child either doesn’t and just says ‘I’m including all of this,’ or depending on however he’s been guided, can make a choice.”

I then shared with him that I am conscious of the fact that I overcompensate with my son’s minority language and culture, though it is not my native background. In other words, I flood my son with Spanish books and music, and Caribbean food, yet never emphasize his whiteness. I was encouraged by his response:

“…when we were coming up, my mother went overboard with the blackness because she figured anything white I would get as soon as I left my door. Depending on your neighborhood and where you grew up, but the United States, just as far as what we see in the media is still predominantly white and male outside of sports and music. So with me personally, I’m alright with going overboard on the emphasis as long as you’re not discouraging of any other races, because I just think the more positive the better. No one is ever going to have an issue finding a white role model, ever. Not for a while. So I’m all cool with pumping up the positivity of ethnic diversity.”

Martin Luther King Day 2012 has passed, but as we all know, maintaining the balance between inclusion and exclusion is a year-round, lifelong crusade. Having books like Chocolate Me, and resources like the corresponding website and Facebook page, gives us daily support as parents raising children in a country that is still (unfortunately) focused on white culture.

For daily inspiration on parenting and multicultural living, follow @TayeDiggs and @ChocolateMe on Twitter.

I’m not sure at what moment it hit me, but this summer I was determined to take my three kids, ages 9, 6, and 5 abroad for a cultural immersion experience. I wasn’t sure where we were going yet, I only knew that I wanted to be immersed in either the French or Spanish language and culture.

Why did I want to do this? Well, 34 years ago I was born in Mexico City, Mexico, to a Mexican mother and a Haitian father. We left Mexico for Haiti when I was still a baby. Around the age of 3, we moved to New York City and have been in the States since then. While I grew up listening to Selena, eating mole on special occasions, and hearing my parents speak Spanish at home, my brother and I spoke only English. My parents wanted us to help them learn English so we focused on learning English and eventually forgot how to speak Spanish and French. Even though we spoke English with my parents,  my parents  taught us about the Mexican and Haitian traditions.

As a bi-cultural mother married to an African-American, I have a big job ahead of me. I have three different cultures to teach my children. Even though I cook food my mother and aunts have taught me to cook, and my iPod has both new and traditional artists from Haiti and Mexico, I knew that something was missing. It wasn’t just that we didn’t speak Spanish at home, it was much more than that. It was the experience of going home and being totally immersed in the culture and the language, smelling the air, touching the soil.

When we were children, my brother and I visited Mexico and Haiti several times. The earliest memory I have was going to Haiti the summer before I entered second grade. One morning, we were in Miami, Florida and by lunch we were in Port au Prince, Haiti. Even though I was only 7, I still have many memories from that trip and our subsequent trips to Mexico.   Those trips defined who I was and where I came from. I had a better understanding of my culture and family traditions.

It was this sort of experience that I wanted for my children. After careful planning, we chose Mexico over Haiti. We would spend a few days in Mexico City to visit with family and the rest of our time would be in San Miguel de Allende. San Miguel is a small colonial town located 180 miles north of Mexico City. It is rich in history, culture, and the arts. There is a small population of Americans that live there either full or part-time and, as a result, there are many great bilingual summer programs for international kids. The programs offer  cooking classes, crafts and arts, Mexican history, and of course, Spanish.

In preparation for our trip, I checked out a number of different books on Mexico for children. We learned about the history, I showed the kids a map of where we were going, what we would see, and what we would do. I wanted to prepare them as much as possible to eliminate some of their natural fears they had about going away for a month. They were going to miss their friends at home, their rooms, and were scared about not knowing anyone of the language. I was also scared about going, not sure how they would react, whether our rental home would be suitable, or if we would make any friends.

Now, that we are back home, I can say that the experience well exceeded my expectations. We made many friends, we learned more than I could’ve learned in books and videos about Mexico, and  the children are now speaking a little Spanish. Sure there were moments where they missed home, missed their daddy (who was only able to stay for a week with us due to work), and wanted to eat “plain food.” My son learned how to make tortillas from scratch, the children made beautiful piñatas, and met other children from Switzerland to California. I have no regrets about our trip and know that I hope to be able to return next summer. We promised our new friends that we would be back, gave kisses to our new teachers, and promised to Skype from America and stay in touch.

*** All images courtesy and copyright Justice Jonesie.

Justice Jonesie is a recovering lawyer, mother of three beautiful children, and blogger at JusticeJonesie.com and Mamalaw.com. She blogs about travel, fitness, and the joys and challenges of motherhood. In 2009, Jonesie founded the Blogalicious Weekend conferences. Born in Mexico City, Mexico to a Mexican mother and a Haitian father, Jonesie is on a journey to raise her children biculturally in the Southern town of Jacksonville, Florida.

{The author's daughter, Alina, 18 mos.}

We were in William Sonoma, admiring Le Creuset’s brand new color of cast iron cookware (a turquoise blue, the hue of Miami beach water), when a brown skinned woman wearing an apron embroidered with WS approached us. As her steps drew near, I dreamt of telling the woman, “Yes, we’ll take every piece you have in this whimsy turquoise, please. I’m Cuban and belong in Miami, just like this Dutch oven belongs in my kitchen. Thank you very much.”

But her eyes never caught mine. Her stride was so swift that her thick braid of straight, dark hair swung from side to side as she brought herself two inches from my husband’s tall frame. She was a short woman, and stood with her chin pointed towards the ceiling to look into my husband’s dark-skinned face. She asked him, “What tribe are you from?”

This happens to us more frequently than you might expect.

One day, while waiting in line at a Las Vegas (where we currently live) DMV, a frantic Latino couple grabbed his arm. The man asked my husband, “Eres Cubano?!? Hablas español?” All my husband could think to do was point to me.

He doesn’t speak Spanish, nor is he Cuban. He isn’t Native American Indian either. However, something about his high cheek bones and the red undertone in his skin make many people question if he is someone other than who he actually is.

None of those presumptions were difficult to process when it was just the two of us. He is African American, and stunningly handsome I might add. And me? I’m a brown Latina. A first generation US citizen, born to Cuban immigrants, my family speaks Spanish but English is the language I use most. An Americanized Latina could be my label, if you like that kind of thing. Sometimes, when I don’t have a tan and my hair is highlighted, I could pass as a dark White girl, but usually people question if I am Persian. Whatever the case, my husband and I were comfortable in our personal identities and, at the very least, aware of how the world perceived our identities to be.

Living and loving as a mixed couple was easy, although not so for everyone we knew. He had his life, I had mine, and together we closed the door to our bubble and made a world of acceptance. And when marriage was proposed, not a thought further than wanting to spend the rest of my life with him passed through my mind. It wasn’t until our daughter was born 18 months ago that I began to seriously examine the impact our blending identities had (and will have) on our sweet Alina.

Sadly, I know that my husband and I can not completely control the dynamics of how our daughter develops her personal identity. I realize that much of the way she will see herself will be entangled with how the world defines her. Although I’ve been told that Alina looks very much like me, it is obvious to most people we encounter that she is of mixed ethnicities. And she is! I would never deny that. But I worry our world of black and white will strip away from my baby the part of her that is me. The brown. The Latina. Hence, my fervor for raising a bilingual child is at its peak. In the sense that Spanish connects so many different Latin cultures, my hope is that it also connects Alina to her Latin roots. Because, no matter what the world might label her as, speaking Spanish will grant Alina ownership to half of who she is. Raising a bilingual child truly is a gift, of identity most of all.

Vanessa is Cuban American, married to her African American husband, and mother to their beautiful daughter, Alina. Vanessa explores issues of personal identity, the complexities of raising a bicultural/biracial child and the impact it has on her womanhood. Vanessa is also passionate about photography and capturing Alina’s every move. You can read more of Vanessa’s story at www.desumama.com.

{Photo by Tela Cche}

Editor’s Note: This whole week is dedicated to the topic of Bicultural Birthday Celebration. Make sure you’re subscribed to receive our posts because we have an awesome round up of guest posts and fabulous giveaways.

I remember one of the first birthday parties I attended after I moved to Florida from Puerto Rico. I was taken aback by how laid back it was. I was so used to the celebrations we had in Puerto Rico that it took me some time to get used to the differences.

One thing I remember most about birthday parties growing up is how festive they were. There was music, food, games, and lots of people. Always. Parties were full of friends and family, with plenty of adults present. They normally lasted quite a few hours and were mostly held at our home.

Now, as a mother myself, I tend to host similar birthday parties for our baby girl and still see differences from the parties we attend for her school friends. We’ve never hosted a birthday party for her that wasn’t held at either our home or abuela’s. On the other hand, every single birthday party we’ve attended for her friends has been at a Chuck E Cheese’s or a similar venue.

For food, we serve full meals: chicken or pork with arroz con gandules (or another variety of yellow rice). Additionally, music is always playing in the background at our parties and it’s not uncommon for the adults to get up and start dancing. These two things are also quite different at the parties we attend, since normally the food served is pizza or sandwiches, and music is not commonly a part of the party, unless there’s a game of musical chairs.

In Puerto Rico, when it was time to sing to the birthday girl/boy, we normally would sing Happy Birthday in Spanish, with our version being:

Cumpleaños feliz, te deseamos a ti, cumpleaños a {insert name}, cumpleaños feliz!

Immediately after that song, we’d sing:

¡Feliz, feliz en tu día! ¡Amiguita(o) qué Dios te bendiga! ¡Qué reine la paz en tu día…y qué cumplas muchos más!

And then sometimes, just for fun, we’d add: “Te estás poniendo vieja(o)…con cara de coneja(o)!”

Though now we sing Happy Birthday in English, we do still sing the second song in Spanish. It’s just another layer of keeping birthday traditions from Puerto Rico alive for our children, even though we don’t live en la Isla del Encanto.

I enjoy our birthday parties and though they take a lot of work, I always look forward to them. I love that we are able to celebrate alongside so many friends and extended family and that my baby girl has so much fun. As a plus, I’m able to keep a piece of my childhood alive and pass down a bit of Puerto Rico to my children.

Melanie Edwards is the founder and editor of ModernMami™.com, a lifestyle blog from the perspective of a Latina working mother, and owner of Ella Media. Married 8 years, she is the proud mother of an energized 5-year-old girl and newborn boy, and is raising them in a bilingual, multicultural environment. Originally from Puerto Rico, Melanie now resides in Orlando, Florida. Connect with Melanie on Twitter, Facebook, and 40weeks Plus.

{Paella Cookout}

Editor’s Note: This whole week is dedicated to the topic of Bicultural Birthday Celebration. Make sure you’re subscribed to receive our posts because we have an awesome round up of guest posts and fabulous giveaways.

Growing up in New York during the late 70s and 80s (shhh… don’t tell anyone), birthday parties in the United States were low key as compared to today. They consisted of sandwiches or pizza, pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs, cake and a big old “adios” as you handed your friends their “bootie bag” on the way out your door. Oh, yeah. Parties were held at home – en casita. If you were lucky you might have it at McDonald’s or the back room of your local diner. That’s if you were lucky. In my case I didn’t celebrate many birthdays in N.Y. In fact, in the time leading up to my 25th birthday, I probably celebrated no more than 6 birthdays in the States. That’s because I was born in the summer and every summer, without fail, we packed our bags and headed to the country. The country of Spain.

In the 1960s the Spanish government promoted a tourism campaign with the motto “Spain is different.” “España es diferente.” It’s true. Spain was (and still is) different in many ways, with birthday celebrations being no exception. My most vivid birthday memory is my favorite birthday custom of all – “los tirones de oreja” or “the ear tugs”. Growing up in the U.S. back in the day, on your birthday, your friends would give you a punch in the arm for each year of your life, plus one for good luck. Not so in Spain. There, your friends and family would pull your earlobe, one tug for each year of your life, plus one for good luck. Naturally, the older you got, the more “energy” your buddies put into pulling your ear. If you were a boy, you were doomed. That is to say, starting in middle school and ending somewhere in your late teens it was in your best interest to avoid your more “gamberro” (troublemaker) friends because by day’s end your ears would be aching. Naturally, your mamá and papá would take it easy on you, with only a slightly harder tug for “el de la suerte“.

Another “costumbre” is the one of whose responsibility it is to “invitar” or, plainly put, pay. When you are a child, naturally, you are treated on your birthday. However, as soon as you were old enough to carry some (then) pesetas or (now) euros in your pocket, it was your responsibility to pay. So, if you went out with your “pandilla” (group of friends) to the local “terraza” (outdoor café/bar) on your birthday, it was your responsibility to treat everyone to something. That something could run the gamut from Coca Colas, to a “ración” (small portion) of “pinchos” (appetizers on a toothpick) to “cañas” (glasses of beer).

Birthday parties were low key growing up as well. Generally they consisted more of having your amigos over during “la merienda” – snack time. This meant treating them to “pasteles” (Spaniards refer to pastries as pasteles, not to be confused with some Caribbean or South American countries’ versions of the word), “bollos” (sweet breadlike treats) or maybe “chocolate con churros”. I always wanted to teach my Spanish friends about what we did in the States so I would ask my parents to order a cake. The funny thing about the cakes there were the flavors. For example, whereas here strawberry shortcake is pretty run of the mill, in Spain “yema” (egg yolk) was the standard. I was not a big fan of it then. Now… I love it.

Naturally, the older you got, the more creative you got on your birthday. By the time I was 14, la pandilla and I would spend the morning shopping either in the “ultramarinos” (markets) or our parent’s fridges for pan, arroz, pollo, cebolla, ajo, tomate, azafrán, chorizo, morcilla, Fanta and fruta. Then in the afternoon we would beg our parents to borrow a “paellera” (typical paella pan), a sarten (frying pan), cuchillos y tenedores (forks and knives), cucharas de palo (wooden spoons) y cerillas (matches) and we would head out to “el campo”, build a fire and cook our meal. (I still remember the birthday I ate so much morcilla (blood sausage) I spent the evening throwing up… good times, good times. My mother got so angry…) We had cookouts in the countryside because we were in the Sierra de Guadarrama outside Madrid. Our friends from Galicia – to the north – would tell us about seafood cookouts and ancient pagan “queimadas” on the beach. The ones from the Andalucía – to the south – would talk about parties with “sevillanas” (typical folk dances). Music is essential at all times no matter what part of Spain you are in.

Now as the world gets smaller, the differences in birthday celebrations are lessening. “El mundo es un pañuelo” as the expression goes. The world is a handkerchief. It’s true. But still most of these customs remain, and typical birthday foods – as with any holiday – generally revolve around “lo que da la tierra” or what is produced locally. These Spanish traditions are so ingrained in me that my Greek American hubby and I pull our daughters’ ears on their birthdays. Sadly, neither Carvel nor the local corner bakeries offer yema birthday cakes in our area. But even though we throw elaborately themed birthday parties for our girls as is customary in NY today, you can bet there is always at least one “chorizito” lurking in a corner somewhere.

As for my birthday this summer, I’ll be cooking a paella in the Outerbanks.

Maria Amelia was raised in a Spanish speaking home in a neighborhood with only a handful of other Latino and Spanish families. Despite being looked down upon for speaking Spanish at times throughout her childhood, her parents always told her to be proud of her family, her culture and her heritage. She shares her pride and her love in her blog Mommylogue.

Editor’s Note: This whole week is dedicated to the topic of Bicultural Birthday Celebration. Make sure you’re subscribed to receive our posts because we have an awesome round up of guest posts and fabulous giveaways.

I asked my 7 year old if he thought birthday parties were different in Mexico than in the U.S.  He said, “Totally”.  Sweet, I thought, some food for fodder…

How?

“Spanish”.

Thanks for the insight, love.  I will argue, however, that is the cool thing with kids – they take it as it comes, and assimilate instantly. The clowns, the piñatas and cascarones, mordita (for sure) are as much a part of their repertoire now as the traditional ‘cake and ice cream’ in America.

Anyway, a gorgeous birthday party is why we’ve now spent so much time in Mexico: thank you to Olivier for turning 4 years ago. At his party, we were welcomed as complete strangers and introduced to friends.  We shared a slice of life that day touched with sweetness and frivolity, but underscored in tradition, that made us hunger for more. Seriously, was this how other people lived?

But let’s start with the basics: In the States, kids are often invited a month in advance for a birthday party from 2-5 pm. Lovely. In my experience in Mexico, you could be invited the day before for a party at “4”, which EVERYONE advises you not to arrive until 5 at the earliest, a la Mexi-time. An intentional late arrival makes me squeamish as I wouldn’t want to offend the host, but as others point out – the host might not even be there if you arrive at the exact time (and then where are you?!), and anyway, what’s the rush? The party will go on for hours… no host in Mexico would ever impose an ending time – THAT would truly be rude.

I have never been invited to a dull party here – children’s birthdays are celebrated with abandon and a full cache of families and friends. They are generally a rich blending of activities, not unlike those we entertain in Los Angeles, delicious food, and traditions.  

My favorite custom of singing the “Dale, Dale” song has given way to “mordida”. But the “Dale, Dale” song is a fun way for everyone to participate while one child beats a piñata to a pulp. I say it that way because I’ve often witnessed sweet little girls in princess attire (or for that matter, sweet little boys) baffled by why they should be hitting the floating castle with candy… thank goodness, someone usually jumps up, happy to demonstrate wild behavior to break it open. And only once have I seen the actual stick break before the piñata does. Either way, “Dale, Dale” keeps everyone in line (3 swats and you’re done) and involved.

Cascarones are great – hollowed out eggs with confetti. They are an awesome time consuming craft and can create quite a mess, but confetti alters moods like only the pop of a nice champagne bottle can. In Antigua, Guatemala, the novios purchased them to squash over amorous heads as a flirting technique when circling the town square on foot.  We made them for Easter, since they’re eggs.  But traditionally in Mexico, they are used for particular celebrations – like birthday parties. We made about 3 per person for  Easter, totaling around 2 dozen minus the ‘bad eggs’, of course… But my friend brought out a plastic storage box the size of a laundry basket filled with cascarones. She had to beg the kids to finish them up – there were so many that adults jumped in!  …another refreshing aspect I love in the Mexican culture… adults welcomed to act like children, again It is SO fun.

So aside from the bouncy houses, clowns and games, pony rides and piñatas, cascarones, and SCRUMPTIOUS FOOD, our hands-down favorite tradition is “mordida!”. This, I tell you, is not solely reserved for children’s parties – as witnessed when celebrating 39 years of an amigo one Friday night.

Traditionally, the cake is brought out as everyone sings “Las Mañanitas”.  After the candles have been blown, the excitement builds. “Mor-di-da! Mor-di-da!” is chanted in unison. Supposedly, somebody well positioned behind the birthday person, then gently aids in pushing his/her face toward the cake. Truthfully each time I’ve seen it, the birthday boy has welcomed the opportunity and without prodding, into the cake a whole face flies!  The crowd always goes wild!  It is hysterical – every time!! It is also completely shocking to the uninitiated… which can be seen in the face of my daughter. I am told that every ‘good’ Mexican family has an album for each child documenting the frosting faces over the years. What a treasure – that’s the album I would keep in a fire proof safe, along with a viewing copy on my coffee table.

The party never ends until the last person leaves. We’ve definitely carried home sleeping children from another child’s birthday party, because the celebrations never cease! And while my children’s heritage is a smattering of European ancestry heavily weighted toward the Irish, their cultural capital most certainly includes some Mexican traditions.

***All photos courtesy of Amy Conroy

{Photo Courtesy of Dariela Cruz}

Editor´s Note:  This whole week is dedicated to the topic of Bicultural Birthday Celebration.  Make sure you´re subscribed to receive our posts because we have an awesome round up of guest posts and fabulous giveaways.

I have so many great memories of birthday celebrations growing up in Venezuela, they are memories that make me very happy and nostalgic. My mom used to get us the prettiest new clothes to wear that day, there was always a cake with some quesillo (Flan) and jello and we would always, always have a piñata -in fact when you are a kid they aren’t called birthday parties, they are called piñatas as in: At what time is Dariela’s piñata tomorrow?

The adults play a big role in the piñatas too, there is plenty to eat and drink for them:  beer, rum, little meat balls, cheese balls, cheese sticks and so on; plus after the main part of the kid’s party ends, the adults continue partying! In my memories this just meant that I got to play and have fun with my friends and family for a really long time during my birthday.

When celebrating my kid’s birthdays here in the states I always want to recreate some of those festivities and piñatas:

• My son Adrian has had a piñata since his first birthday party, it will always be there as the main activity!
• I always make adult food and drinks available at the party with some Venezuelan flavor.
• I try and get them a nice outfit for the special day (Although it’s been hard cause it gets too dirty, how did they do it for us?).
• Along with the cake I serve quesillo (flan) and/or jello.
• Once they grow older, even if they don’t have a piñata I will always have a little cake and sing “Cumpleaños” for them so their birthday won´t go without notice (Para que no pase por debajo de la mesa!).
• The only thing I can’t control is the total time the guests will stay, people are not used to staying more than 2-3 hours in a kid’s party, and I’m also getting used to that after so many years living here.

One of the main differences in between the parties is the punctuality. In Venezuela the invitation might be for 3 p.m. but people are not arriving until 5pm! I still can’t believe it! But it’s true, the party will actually start getting crowed around 6 p.m. I can’t deal with that timing anymore. I love the fact that if you invite at 4pm here you will have somebody knocking at your door at 4pm sharp, guarranted. I love it because you can count on that no matter what and because of it you are able to plan accordingly.

The fact that we can combine both cultures into these celebrations is what I love the most. We can take what we like from each culture and make these parties remembered in a special way for our kids, it’s so flexible!

Editor´s Note:

One of the notable differences in Venezuelan birthdays is the special song they sing to the cumpleañero:  Ay, Que Noche Tan Preciosa. If you´ve ever been to a Venezuelan birthday you know it´s looooong and sweet.  The video below includes the lyrics to the song so you don´t feel left out next time you go to un cumpleaños venezolano!

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3SzgMN4LMjA&feature=related

Dariela is a graphic designer and mom born in Venezuela residing now in Southern California. She blogs at MamiTalks.com – A bilingual photo-inspired blog about a latina mom and her family.

All this talk about oatmeal in the swanky McDonald’s in Manhattan was a great excuse for me to get a chance to interview Laura Posada, author of Fit Home Team, and to learn more about how she and her husband, famous NY Yankee catcher Jorge Posada, manage to raise two fully bilingual and bicultural children.  They both speak Spanish at home to each other and their son and daughter and take frequent tips to their homeland of Puerto Rico.  Another huge ingredient in their bicultural home are the fresh and natural meals Laura herself prepares to keep a fit and healthy family, without sacrificing taste or traditions.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MurjN1JA8Sw

Disclosure:  I was invited by McDonald’s to attend the event in New York at their expense, and reimbursed for my time.  All opinions and reactions are my own.

Today we’re doing something a bit different for our monthly ReadMe series. We’re so excited to be part of the talented Julia Alvarez‘ blog tour for her brand new book How Tia Lola Learned to Teach, the much-awaited, second installment in her The Tia Lola Stories. The books feature cuentos about familia and culture and center around two young siblings, who move from the Dominican Republic to Vermont, and their eccentric and magical aunt, Tía Lola who follows them later to help out their mami. I’m always happy to feature books for older kids (these are for the 8 to 12-year-old range) and the best part is that we get to giveaway two sets of books with both How Tia Lola Learned to Teach and its pre-quel, How Tia Lola Came to (Visit) Stay.

But, before we get to that, I invite you to read Julia Alvarez’ guest post below (and peek at photographs from her family album) on a subject very dear and near to all us: familia – particularly, Las Tías! Enjoy!

(1) Group photo of familia

Introducing (some of) My Tías

I grew up with so many tías, to this day, I don’t even know the final count!

Part of it was that I spent my first ten years in the Dominican Republic where my parents are both from.  Back in those days, families could be quite large.  My father, for instance, had twenty-four siblings.  Okay, before you fall over in your chair, let me explain that there were two wives, but not at the same time.  My grandfather’s first wife had ten kids, and then she died.  My grandfather married again, and his second wife had fifteen kids.  My father was the youngest of all the kids.  So imagine how many aunts–thirteen, I believe–just on his side of the family.

The other reason I have so many aunts is that in Hispanic cultures, any close friend of your parents becomes your uncle or aunt.  You call them tío or tía.  Familias are so important in our cultures that anyone we like, we pull them into the family!

The great thing about tías is that there were dozens of them.  You could always find one to talk to about a problem or to help you with a homework assignment.  You got raised by all of them, but of course, you had special favorites.  This took a lot of pressure off your parents.  I know one of the hardest things when we immigrated to this country was that suddenly we turned into a nuclear family: just mami and papi, and my three sisters and me.  Papi was busy working, and when Mami was occupied with housework or involved with another sister or in a bad mood, there weren’t any tías to turn to.

Back in the Dominican Republic, we grew up in the extended family.  Tías were all around me: aunts and uncles lived in side by side houses with my grandparents, Mamita and Papito, in the big house down the street.  Every Sunday, our extended familia gathered at my grandparents’ house for dinner.  It was a huge party.  And part of the fun was getting to visit with some of my favorite aunts.

So, I’d like to invite you over to one of those old-time Sunday gatherings and introduce you to some of my favorite tías.  But let me say right off that I mean no offense to aunts I don’t introduce, because really we could be here for a whole week, not just this one pretend Sunday.  As I said, I still don’t have a final count, but I’m sure that whenever I do, one more aunt will pop out of the woodwork and say, “¿Y qué?  Did you forget about me?  Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

(2) Discussing books with Tití

First, I’d like to introduce you to my aunt Tití.  That’s what we called her Tití, not Tía Tití, because she was so young.  She seemed more like an older cousin than like an aunt..  She was always reading.  She was the only person I ever saw purposely pick up a book to have fun.  My grandmother used to say that no man would ever marry her if she kept on reading.  Well, Tití did end up marrying, but even better, she kept on reading.  To this day, she is one of my favorite people to talk to about books.

(3) Her Royal Highness Queen Amantina at 101

Another tía who lived to be 103 years old was Tía Amantina.  She was actually a great aunt, my grandmother’s “baby sister.”  Tía Amantina was a tomboy old lady, if you can imagine that.  She was always dressed in a jogging suit and wore tiny sneakers.  She had dainty feet.  In her eighties, Tía Amantina went off to Paris to live in a dormitory and learn how to speak French.  She taught me to stay young no matter how old you are, a lesson I appreciate more and more the older I get.  On her 101st birthday, we decided to crown her Queen Amantina.

(4) Tía Amelia--still beautiful at 79

Another aunt, Tía Amelia, was also my godmother.  Her family was poor, but Tía Amelia was very beautiful, and a rich man married her.  Sadly, he died young, and Tía Amelia was left a rich widow with a big mansion, where she lived all by herself.  What am I saying?  She didn’t live alone at all.  She had a dozen servants, and a priest came every day to say mass in her little chapel downstairs.  Saturdays, when Tía Amelia was not traveling around the world, she’d send her chauffeur over in her big black car to pick me up, so I could spend the day at her house.  She had a swimming pool and a park-size garden to play in with bushes pruned in the shapes of animals (where I got the idea for Tía Lola doing this to bushes in Vermont) and an enormous house with the dining room on the second floor and the kitchen down on the ground floor.  Meal times, Tía Amelia would explain that the dumb waiter would be bringing up the food.  I’d wait and wait for a big, tall, stupid-looking fellow to come up the stairs.  But all that ever happened was that the serving maid opened a small cabinet door on the wall, yanked on a pulley, and up came a tray with our lunch.  I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but it was just an okay day at my godmother’s house.  There was no one to splash around with in the swimming pool, no one to chase in the garden, no one to sneak into the chapel with me to play with Tía Amelia’s rack of rosaries.  So the best part of the whole day was getting back home and telling my sisters and my next door cousins about the amazingly fabulous day I had spent at Tía Amelia’s house.

(5) Tía Idalita with my uncle Tío Gus (always ready for a good time too) dressed up for a costume party

Next, I’d like you to meet my tía Idalita.  She was my party aunt.  There was nothing Tía Idalita loved more than seeing everyone have a good time.  She’d pull people onto the dance floor, the shy ones, the awkward ones, and by the end of the party, everyone was dancing like pros.  Good days, bad days, Tía Idalita was in a good mood, smiling, and asking how you were doing.  Sometimes I would complain about this, that, or the other.  Now, when I think back on how big her problems must have been, living in a dictatorship with friends who had been arrested, and how small my problems were (I wanted a toy my mother wouldn’t get for me, my baby sister wouldn’t let me have a turn on the swings, one of my cousins wouldn’t tell me the secret she’d told my older sister), I think, wow!  That smile was an act of strength.  Under much less difficult circumstances, I try to face each day with Tía Idalita’s and Tía Lola’s golden rule in mind.  That’s the only way you can ever pay back nice things in your life, by passing them on.  That’s something my Tía Idalita taught me.

(6) Tia Lulú

If I had to pick the one aunt who was the most like Tía Lola, sassy and magical and full of life, it would have to be my Tía Lulú.  I loved to visit with her, because she told the best stories.  And her laugh was infectious.  You shared a problem with her, and somehow, just talking to her, you felt better.  When we first came to the United States, Tía Lulú had preceded us.  It was like having a little bit of the old country still close by.

(7) Tía Rosa--second mother

Finally, I’d like to introduce you to the aunt who was like a second mother to my sisters and me, Tía Rosa, whom we called Lala.  She was a great cook.  After my grandparents died, it was Lala who took up the tradition of Sunday dinners at her house.  Sometimes there were a dozen, sometimes almost sixty of us.  And there was always enough food.  Lala was also a great listener.  She gave you the sense that she had all the time in the world, just for you.  When we were children, growing up in the Dominican Republic, she lived next door to us.  Like Tía Lola, Tía Rosa always had fun projects for us to do.  I remember the summer the whole extended family moved out to a big house on the beach that belonged to my grandfather.  (The city was so hot that July and August; everyone feared that the heat would bring on diseases.)  It rained and rained and rained for days.  There must have been a dozen cousins underfoot, and we were all starting to get on our mothers’ nerves.  Well, Lala told us there was a way to make the sun come out, an ancient magical spell she was going to teach us.  She rigged up a big stone with a ring around it on a rope and hung it from the roof of the wraparound porch.  We all held hands and chanted:

San Isidro, labrador

quita el agua

pon el sol

Saint Isidro, worker,

take away the rain

bring on the sun.

Round and round we went.  But still, it kept raining.  “It’s not working!” we’d complain.  But Tía Rosa, who was in the circle, chanting right along with us, said the sky was far away from earth, we just had to persist and chant a little louder.  Finally, we were all dizzy, hoarse, and bored.  Anything but chanting around a hanging stone sounded like fun to us.  We ended up in the screened-in porch, playing Canasta, Bingo, and dominoes, quiet, lazy games.  By mid-afternoon, when the sun peeped out from behind the clouds, the mass of cousins rushed upstairs to get into our swimsuits and dash down to the beach, Tía Rosa was ready in her black swimsuit and kerchief.  We all claimed credit for that sunny afternoon.  Tía Rosa died two years ago, while I was working on the second Tía Lola book.  That’s why it’s dedicated to her.  I still miss her.

I think I better stop, so we can all go down to Sunday dinner!

Photographs courtesy of Julia Alvarez and Bill Eichner

© 2010 by Julia Alvarez

Julia Alvarez is the award-winning author of several novels for young readers, including Return to Sender and Before We Were Free, both winners of the Pura Belpré Award. Her adult novels include How the García Girls Lost Their Accents, In the Time of the Butterflies, and Once Upon a Quinceañera. She is a writer-in-residence at Middlebury College in Vermont.

The Giveaway

Two lucky winners can win one set each of the first two books in the Tia Lola Stories. To enter this giveaway, please tells us about your Tía(s)…

This giveaway ends at midnight EST on Sunday, Oct. 31, 2010. Entries/Comments that do not follow the submission guidelines will be invalid and automatically deleted. Sorry, just need to keep it fair. Good luck to all!

Photo by Alan Light

The following is a guest post by Rubén González, who blogs at “Love, Translated – Raising Bilingual, Bicultural Children”

If you were a teenager in the United States in 1991, you were likely to either have the hots for Kelly Taylor or for Dylan McKay (or maybe Brandon Walsh, if you preferred goody-two-shoes). But more interestingly, if you were a teenager in Colombia in 1991 (namely, me,) from that great distance and thanks to the magic of television, you knew these characters very well, you longed for each weekly airing of Beverly Hills 90210, and you didn’t have the hots for Kelly Taylor – you were flat out in love with her.

So is it a surprise that twenty years later I find myself happy and madly in love with an “All-American” wife with the blond hair and that quintessentially American, big-toothed smile that I learned to love in Kelly Taylor?

Where I’m going with this is that I have it made. I got the girl of my dreams. And together, we now have two wonderful and beautiful bi-cultural, bi-racial, bilingual sons. But now that I am almost mature and feel this resurgence of pride in my Colombian background that I want to instill as strongly as I can in my children, did I shoot myself in the foot by marrying a non-Latina?

Not even close.

There are definitely challenges. My wife does not speak Spanish fluently and before she met me, she was only vaguely familiar with Latino culture. So there are cultural misunderstandings from time to time (especially when we have visitors from the old country –mi mamá-) and yes, there is a language barrier that, as our kids grow older and my conversations with them in Spanish become more sophisticated, keeps my wife a bit out of the loop. We don’t have a “Colombian” or even “Latino” household that our children can come to after school, a space and time warp that immerses them back into the ways of a household in the old country. Instead (and literally,) we have a Colombian-American household that has in it a lot of what you would call “American mainstream” and sprinklings here and there of Colombianness. And in that, the optimist in me sees as a great advantage.

I have met many immigrant Latino couples whose children struggle with the disconnect between the culture they experience in the home and the one they experience outside the home. And to the parents’ credit, they end up raising wonderful, well-adjusted children, but there always seems to be that tension of two cultures pulling on them, some times in different directions, which causes the children at times to actively reject the culture of their parents. In our home, by virtue of the difference between my wife’s and my background, it seems to me like there is inherently less pressure. I realize that my boys are getting less exposure to Latino culture than they might otherwise, had I married a Latina, but I also believe that having the Latinness toned down a little bit creates an environment where speaking Spanish, singing Colombian songs, or playing Colombian games is simply one of those quirky things they do with their papá and is therefore more palatable, it doesn’t feel like an environmental imposition.

There are other, wonderful advantages: the process of cultural discovery that my wife experiences adds excitement to our family life and makes otherwise small things, like her learning to make arepas or natilla, a cause for celebration. Also, being the naturally neurotic person that I am, I used to be overwhelmed by the prospect of helping my children go through situations and rites of passage that are unique to American culture, but having a beautiful Gringuita with firsthand knowledge as my partner greatly allays my concerns and makes me feel like we have the perfect balance to navigate two worlds and two cultures.

I’m not saying that all of us Latinos need to spiff up this Saturday and hit the clubs in search for non-Latinos to mate with. I’m mostly writing words of comfort to myself and hopefully to any other readers who may doubt their ability to create a rich Latino experience for their children because their spouse is not Latino.

Culture is a funny thing: it feels like the most important thing in the world, it is what defines us, what grounds us in the world, but at the same time, it is made up of small superficial things that, when analyzed closely, make us realize that people around the world are more similar than they are different. Enough cheese? I’m not done yet: It is because of those global commonalities that I fell in love with Kelly Taylor over the airways, and twenty years later, with my wife, whom I call the new and improved Kelly Taylor 2.0. And it is thanks to the celebration and the balance of our differences that our bilingual, bi-cultural household seems to be thriving despite the challenges. Of course, we’ve only been at this for a handful of years, but so far so good. So chin up, Anglo-Latino households!

Originally from Manizales, Colombia, Rubén González is a 34 year-old husband and father of two boys, living in Minneapolis.
Ruben arrived in the US at the tender age of 20 and since then, he’s worked stints ranging from teacher, to house cleaner and lab technician. Currently, he works as a technology and web guru at a marketing communications agency in Eden Prairie, Minnesota.
Rubén’s passion (besides his wife and kids) include literature, politics, history, pop culture, and Scandinavian Black and Death Metal. He exposes his neurosis, insecurities, and love for his family on his blog, “Love, Translated – Raising Bilingual, Bicultural Children”