When I watched Ana and Roxana’s interview with Jorge Ramos of Univision last week, I was struck by an irony. Roxana spoke about the fact that the Latino community used to be all for assimilation, thus interested in teaching their kids to be as American as possible, which meant speaking English only (or at least more than Spanish). As evidenced by the growing numbers of SpanglishBaby supporters and the flurry of national conversation about bilingualism, this attitude is changing. The irony is that as the previous generation’s fear of acting or speaking like a Latino is on its way out, white culture has adopted that fear in reverse.

By that, I mean that some whites are now even more hateful toward Latino immigrants and their children than they were before this minority had any chance of becoming the majority. Although there are many non-Hispanic Americans like myself, who are interested in and passionate about giving our children a multicultural and multilingual upbringing, a huge demographic segment still resists the influx of Latinos to this country. Because it’s become harder for these people to avoid all things Latino (por ejemplo: “Press 1 for English, para español marque 2”), they are buckling down and holding tight to somewhat ridiculous representations of white America.

Since when have we cared if road signs or bathroom signs are written in both Spanish and English? Are people truly inconvenienced by extra text that makes no sense to them?

Why do some people get frustrated that their electronics instruction manual is translated into Spanish? That inclusion is just good business sense on the part of the manufacturer.

I admitted in a previous post that the prevalence of Spanish is also difficult for me, even if I understand the words. Yet, I’m not complaining about its availability for those who need it. In fact, I’d rather have warning signs and instructions written in Spanish than endure the consequences of people not following them because they can’t read English. To me, constant visual reminders of how many people in our country would rather read the Spanish part of the sign causes me to pause and be grateful for living in a place where people can thrive (not just get by) even when they do not speak the majority language.

In a time of great change, there will always be backlash. Fears are natural, and both Latinos and whites have felt this particular one – that their comfort zone is slipping away. Because we’ve both felt it, though, we should be more capable of understanding why the other group needs some reminders of home. I can only hope that this culture war inspires people to be more flexible, and especially causes whites to finally see the difference between cultural dominance and the reality of the “melting pot” we claim we have always had. Are we ready for the fact that some people will never mix in that pot, and therefore be  ready to accommodate everyone?

{Photo by incolor-inc}

photo by needoptic

I will never forget the first time I had a PB&J sandwich – it was in Tampa, Florida, at the Chamberlain Senior High School cafeteria, circa 1985. Yes, what a strange thing to remember, but for me the discovery of peanut butter mixed with purple jelly at 15 was a memorable one as it marked the first of many new and different experiences I would have during my stint as a foreign exchange student in los Estados Unidos.

My parents always had a plan: to seek better opportunities in life, even if that meant leaving their home country of Peru. I think moving to the U.S. was a logical choice for them, as they were fluent in English. They were practically newlyweds when they secured student visas and despite family objections they moved to Miami where they hoped to build a new future. Then came little I, but before I could wobble about without falling my parents were forced to return to their homeland after their visas expired. My father was a stickler to the rule of law, and staying in the U.S. without permission was not an option. I know they were disappointed, but for them it was a given that one day I would return to the place of my birth.

A few months before my 16th birthday, my mother, the progressive-thinking woman that she’s always been, decided it would do me well to get immersed in the cultura Americana, so I would know what to expect when the time came to leave the nest and find my own future in the U.S. My mom located a group that specialized in organizing the exchange between students in the U.S. and Peru. I was to be immersed in the American culture by spending most of my Summer vacation living with an American family, attending high school, working, and learning new things.

I remember being very apprehensive about this new plan my mother had concocted, even though by that time in my life I had lived in 4 different countries spanning 3 continents, spoke English fluently, some French, and even some Afrikaans and a bit of Zulu(!), which I had learned while living in South Africa. My point is – it wasn’t like I hadn’t been in new territory before, yet what caused me the most stress was that I would be away from my parents for the first time in my life.

My host family, (a father who was raising three beautiful daughters along with his second wife) waited for me at the airport with open arms. I spotted my American sisters right away – they were holding up a huge, colorful “Welcome, Gloria!” sign. Our cultural differences became evident almost immediately when I proceeded to kiss every member of the family, something that took them by surprise a bit, as I later learned that hugging was their preferred form of greeting. I initially had trouble understanding their fast-paced English, and as I walked with them to the car wearing my Peruvian knit sweater (thanks, Mom!) and eyeing their cool clothes, modern hairstyles, and perfectly applied makeup, I felt like an outsider. Little did I know that a few months later we would all be back to the same spot kissing, hugging, crying, and swearing eternal friendship.

Photo courtesy of G. Schendzielos

My short experience as an exchange student in the U.S. was something that I will never forget. Simply put, it was a breath of fresh air and an opportunity to learn about another culture and about myself – and aside from the peanut butter and jelly discovery, there are many other American memories that I still hold close to my heart: My first jobs in the U.S. with my American sister, Traci – learning how to scoop ice cream for anxious customers at Baskin Robbins (still my favorite ice cream) – and babysitting (something that was so foreign to me, as my parents paid live-in maids to take care of my siblings and I as kids); getting lessons in the art of applying makeup by my oldest American sister and later cruising in her Corvette around town and feeling important; discovering Judy Blume books, high school parties, and blasting Billy Idol on my sister’s portable cassette player; going to the mall and clutching a teddy bear while getting my ears pierced for a second time; trying out for the cheerleading squad (and not making it); being picked up for my first real date with a boy (and hearing my American dad give the necessary pre-date lecture); rushing to KFC with that boy (my new boyfriend, Mike) at lunchtime and devouring hot biscuits with honey under the bleachers; skipping school for a day and driving with Mike on his Dodge pickup to Busch Gardens – and getting seriously grounded afterwards; and so many, many more.

Photo courtesy of G. Schendzielos

It has been more than 25 years, but I still remember walking towards my parents at the airport sporting high top Converse sneakers, a Psychedelic Furs t-shirt, two earrings in each ear, a boom box under my arms, and Mike’s “dog tags” around my neck, and feeling like a new and improved version of myself – inside and out. I can’t thank my parents enough for being so open-minded and giving me the chance to learn about another culture, one that today I consider my own.

Gloria Maria Schendzielos moved permanently to the U.S. a couple of years after her exchange-student experience. Gloria lived in Miami until 11 years ago, when she moved to Colorado to attend law school. Today, Gloria is a licensed attorney, practicing law in the areas of criminal and family law. Gloria has raised a bilingual and bicultural daughter, who just turned 20. Gloria recently reconnected with one of her American sisters on Facebook, and they plan to get together soon in Florida.