The arrival of the newest member of our family is on the horizon, and I have anxieties just like any expecting mom. However, most of mine have nothing to do with balancing time with each kid, getting through sleepless nights, or making sure the baby is eating well. Strangely, I am most concerned about culture.

Although my son and stepdaughters can be considered bilingual, I am not sure they could accurately be called bicultural. My husband’s family expresses Salvadoran and Puerto Rican roots in the sense that they speak Spanish and eat traditional Latin foods. Beyond that, there is not much going on in the way of holidays, music, or traditions. They are fairly Americanized, which makes it difficult to present an authentic heritage to a child.

I know that I can incorporate the great resources from SpanglishBaby, such as apps, movies, crafts, and activities, into daily life with my new son, but it’s hard to envision this successfully creating a true understanding of where his family came from. Besides, the fact that I was raised in a white American household means that I can’t even understand or assume Latin culture to its fullest extent, so I’m not sure that my influence will mean as much as it would if it came from a relative with firsthand knowledge of the people and places that contribute to their culture.

Authenticity seems to be of utmost importance in my mind, but perhaps I’m wrong. I don’t want to manufacture a culture that isn’t true to who we are as family, but I also don’t want any of our kids to miss out on the opportunity to discover their roots and participate in enriching traditions. Aside from making an extra effort to plan international trips in the future and interacting with grandparents a significant amount, I’m at a loss as to what I should do (if anything).

I wonder if speaking Spanish is the best and only way I can be a model of cultural diversity for the baby. After all, kids learn more from our consistent behaviors than our overblown efforts to make them absorb anything.

Is language enough? Do our kids need all the other elements of culture or can bilingualism provide enough benefits?

{Photo by cliff1066™}

BOOK DESCRIPTION/REVIEW

Antonio Sacre is an American storyteller born in Boston to a Cuban father and an Irish-American mother and his fun, sometimes touching, stories reflect the diversity of his identity and experience.

“My Name is Cool: 18 Stories From a Cuban-Irish-American Storyteller,” is Sacre’s most recent book filled with Spanglish-style writing. Marketed to “young readers” — it’s my opinion that this book not be handed over to children younger than 12 due to some mature themes in a few stories. If chapters are pre-read by the parent, then you can go as young as 8 and use your discretion as to which stories to read with your child, because there are definitely some hilarious ones they’re sure to love.

Since each chapter is a separate short story, nothing is lost by jumping around or skipping chapters entirely. My favorites in the book include “My Name is Cool,” which is about having many nicknames as a child (a familiar phenomenon to most Latin Americans!), and “Food Fight” which is about the time his Cuban grandmother re-taught him Spanish when he forgot it.

Other books by the author worth checking out include “La Noche Buena: A Christmas Story” and “A Mango in the Hand: A Story Told Through Proverbs.” Both of these picture books are really beautifully illustrated and include great stories in a mix of Spanish and English. My 11-year-old and I read these together and loved them.

BOOK DETAILS

Title: My Name is Cool: 18 Stories From a Cuban-Irish-American Storyteller

Author: Antonio Sacre

Ages: “Young Readers” (Ages 12+ advised by reviewer)

Publisher/Year: Familius/2013

ISBN: 9781938301568

Price: $10.95

The Giveaway!

We are giving away one copy of My Name is Cool, one copy of La Noche Buena and one copy of A Mango in the Hand to one lucky winner! All you have to do is leave us a comment telling us a nickname of yours from when you were little or a nickname you use for your child. Then, enter the Rafflecopter below.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

For many families, the summer months are revered as the most special of the year. Filled with days of leisure, vacation and adventure, the magic of summer has school-aged kids counting down the days until it arrives. The sun shines bright, the days are long and the pavement beckons for exploration.

As a child, I remember inhaling the fullness of summer freedom — staying up until the wee hours of the morning, waking up after lunch and riding my bike down to the shores of Southern California beaches to meet up with friends. Wearing shorts and a bikini top, and unfortunately not an ounce of sun block, it would take a week’s worth of summer vacation before my Cuban skin turned many shades darker. After the whole year without it, I began to hear the word prieta used within my family.

Honestly, I never even considered the word an insult. All my friends were white Americans — as the only Latina, I was by far among the darkest — and they all seemed to work hard for the tan that my olive skin achieved without effort. “You have the most beautiful skin color,” they would say. “You’re so lucky! You tan so easily!” I had never been hurt by my school-aged girlfriends. In fact, during those summer months, it was my primary goal to get as dark as I humanly could. Everyone looks better with a tan!

It wasn’t until I married my African American husband, had his children, and met other families like mine, that I became aware that basking in the sun of summer months was ingrained with a fear of becoming prieto. Only recently have I understood the insult behind the word, pegged squarely on what happens if you embark on too many sun-filled adventures. Dare I allow my children to sink their toes in the sands of beaches, swim all day at the hotel’s pool or ride their bikes outside while the sun sits strong against their brown faces? The risk of becoming prieto is almost certain for my biracial and bicultural kids. And regardless of who it comes from, I refute any claim that keeps my children hidden from the joys of sunshine.

Latinos come in all shades, but we still revere the most light as beautiful. Why is that? Phrases like mejorando la raza bring question to the pride I have in my heritage and make me worried for the challenges my children will face as dark-skinned, bicultural Latinos. The summer months are meant to build family legacy — traditions and bonds, alike. I’m not afraid, nor ashamed, of our darkening, brown skin. But still, I wonder, do you believe there is insult in being called prieto?

Dear Mija,

When your daddy and I got married we wrote our own vows. Vows are kind of like promises that are deeply personal, but you say in front of family and friends at a wedding. On that day in my white dress and lace veil, holding your dad’s hand, I told him:

I promise to respect your heritage and your culture and one day teach our children about the beauty found in our differences.

We made lots of promises that day and we’re learning what it means to live those out. But by far this is the promise that I sometimes struggle with. And now that you’re coming in a few months I often wonder how I will teach you about your two cultures and the beauty found in our differences.

I know that I will teach you how to make pancakes and ponche. And we will probably have wheat bread and tortillas on the table.

You will learn how to say con permiso before entering someone’s house and muchas gracias before leaving the table. I will probably always call you mija and ask you “¿que te pasó?” when your eyes fill up with tears because some words just sound better in Spanish.

I will teach you about playing with bubbles, baking chocolate chip cookies and reading bedtime stories. Your daddy will probably let you ride on the back of his motorcycle and show you how to play with fireworks.  I told him he has to at least wait until your 5, but kids in Guatemala get introduced to fireworks before they can walk.

I will teach you how to do puzzles and will probably make flashcards and fun games and sticker charts for you. Your daddy already imagines taking you to soccer games. He’s convinced you will wear a Messi jersey and always root for Barca, just like him.

I will do my best to teach you about George Washington and Justo Rufino Barrios. We will celebrate July 4^th and el 15 de Septiembre. You will learn about history from U.S. published textbooks, but also from the people; from Mayan men and women who lived through a horrible civil war that has not made it into many of the textbooks just yet.

I will show you how to dig for sand crabs at the beach and run barefoot through the sprinklers in the grass because those were some of my favorite memories when I was in a little girl in California. Your daddy tells me that he’s going to take you to work with him. He’ll teach you what a hammer is and what size clavos you have to use. And how you can mix cement without a fancy machine. He’ll show you how to work hard and sweat because that’s what his Dad showed him.

Our house will be filled with “te amo” and “please” and “¿por qué? Even though your daddy and I are going to try really hard to be consistent, many of our sentences come out in Spanglish. “Mi amor, hand me the pan porfa.” You will know when we’re angry because we usually argue in English, but Spanish is still the language of love.

I’m pretty sure your grandma will teach you how to make apple pie and your abuelita will teach you how to make tamalitos. I don’t know how to make either, but I can teach you how to make the best banana muffins with chocolate chips, of course. Your grandma will take you shopping at Nordstrom and probably buy you the cutest little outfit when we go to visit. Your abuelita will most likely make you a huipil and corte with beautiful hand-woven colors because that’s what Mayan Guatemalan girls wear.

Mija, our hope is that you will feel at home in two worlds and eventually with two languages. We live in a nice house in Guatemala with a computer, washing machine and enough igagdets for a small country. Once in a while we may go to fancy restaurants with cloth napkins and drinks that have little umbrellas resting on the glass. And we may visit beautiful hotels with big swimming pools and stunning views. Those are fun parts of life and we will enjoy them as a family. But we will also spend time with friends who have a dirt floor and a house made of dried corn stalks. We will sit on plastic bancos around a wooden table and probably eat caldo in the heat of the day. We will drink Pepsi and use the pila to wash our dishes when we’re done. We will do both because this is where we come from and who we are. And we believe there is beauty in both.

And you, my daughter will be both as well. Not either or. You will not be half-estadounidense and half-Guatemalan. And I don’t believe you will feel like a gringa living in Guatemala. No, you’ll be one-hundred percent, YOU.

As you grow and ask questions and develop your own identity, my hope is that you too will come to see the beauty in our differences.

And mija, may you come to know that you are a reflection of them both.

I can’t wait to meet you.

Love,

Momma

(Mija is a Spanish word that literally means “my daughter.” It’s actually written “mi hija.” But when said quickly together it sounds like “mija” and it is said with endearment, kind of like sweetie or sweetheart in English. Female teachers often use it with little girl students. Mijo being the equivalent for little boys.It happens to be one of my favorite Spanish words.)

{Photo by Dave Christenson}

Michelle is a born and raised California girl who now calls Guatemala home. She and her Guatemalan husband are expecting their first daughter in June. She writes about cross-culturally living, discovering bicultural identity and issues of social justice at www.simplycomplicated.me

Why Are They Talking so Fast? by François Grosjean from Psychology Today — I have been told I’m guilty of doing this countless times by non-native Spanish speakers. In another excellent post, Prof. Grosjean explains why it feels like people talk faster in a language we don’t master well.

Childhood concerns about her bicultural self changed into Mexican-American pride from Borderzine — An interesting article from the point of view of a Mexican-American mom who forgot her Spanish and why she doesn’t want the same for her children.

School district’s Spanish spelling bee promotes language skills from The Santa Fe New Mexican — This is a great way to encourage bilingual students to continue to strengthen their skills in Spanish.

Can you believe Christmas is less than three weeks away? I can’t — especially because I haven’t done ANY shopping at all. ¡Auxilio! If you’re anything like me, then you’ll like what I’m about to tell you…

For a couple of years now, we’ve been wanting to put together a gift guide and I’m happy to announce we’ve finally done it! The thing with our Ultimate Gift Guide for Bilingual Kids is that it’s really not only to get gift giving ideas during the holidays. It’s really for any time of the year when you’re looking for that special something to give to a bilingual kid or family.

In our gift guide, you’ll find our favorite picks in terms of book, music, clothing, toys and a few other things we love and feel they best represent our Latino culture or are worth having if your child is growing up bilingual. I must say I’m very happy with how much things have change and how much we have available today in comparison to when we first launched SpanglishBaby four years ago. This is particularly true when it comes to book choices, but others are noticing the need to have products that speak to Latinos and I love that!

So head on over to our Ultimate Gift Guide for Bilingual Kids and take a peek! We hope you too will love what we’ve picked, that you find the perfect gift for #BilingualKids and that you share the guide with others!

¡Felices Fiestas!

{Photo by asenat29}

The holidays are moments when memories are made. As it is with my family, made up of immigrants and multigenerational Americans alike, we gather around a table of feast to live and relive our heritage. Memories kept through the love of our elders and joys of our youth, legacies of culture and thanks are built. No matter where my celebrations take place, my heart beats the Cuban heritage that has been passed down to me from the roots of my ancestors and, with it, a deep appreciation for what it means to be an American.

It may seem odd that a family of immigrants would gather to honor a holiday of thanks to a country not viewed as their own. I recall many Thanksgivings at my grandparents’ home, indulging on lechón y platanitos fritos, the songs of Cuban Spanish flying from one ear to the next, skipping over the plethora of conversations found within one breathe: Manuel showing off the scar from his forced labor experience in the Cuban sugar fields, my grandfather at the table’s head, ushering massive plates of food, screaming out each marvel’s main ingredient as it passed by, the women orchestrating the flan’s grand entrance, my Mom’s quiet, sheepish grin, the Cuban pace was never quite her thing. And me – just happy. In the midst of the Cuban chaos, I remember feeling utterly happy. As true as my belly was full, so was my heart with the heritage and language that exists in my veins.

Read: The Promise I Made to Raise my Daughter Bilingual

Albeit not at the same time, I learned so much about how to be Cuban and American during the holidays. The culture of our celebrations were injected with the flavors and crazed paced that I imagine exists on the island today. But also, my family had to earn their American citizenship, which made them most qualified to teach me how to give thanks to our country. I was instructed from birth to respect and honor my birth right.

My grandparents are immigrants. Through hard work, incredible business savvy and a country whose backbone is rooted on the combination of the two, they conquered the American dream. They fled a country that squandered their aspirations to settle in one that dared them to be the best they could be. And truly, they are the best: the best Cubans and the best Americans. So, as I enjoy my Thanksgiving leftovers, reflecting on a fantastic holiday weekend; as I tuck my bicultural children in bed, I wonder: did anyone else learn how to be American from an immigrant?

You see, while I just celebrated my 33rd birthday, and my 32nd year in the U.S., it was the first time I was eligible to vote in a Presidential election. While my family was lucky enough to immigrate with green cards, I did not become a citizen until 2009. I had tried to naturalize in time for the 2008 elections, but the process in Los Angeles takes so long that I missed that historic election.

Why did it take me so long to even start that process?

I could have naturalized at 18, when I became a legal adult. Or when I was 22 and married a U.S. citizen, but something always prevented me from making the commitment to citizenship, despite being very opinionated about politics and social movements. I could say it was the exorbitant fees: over $500 at the time and several days off work (those costs are even higher now), but while that was a hardship, it wasn’t the biggest obstacle.
As an immigrant, I inherited a sense of nostalgia for my home country, El Salvador.

It was my mother and father who dreamt for decades of returning, and my siblings who flew back for reunions with high school friends, not me. I left El Salvador at 11 months old, so there are no real memories bringing me back to that place. Still, I felt, and sometimes feel, a kinship and a longing for that place, that identity, which is so different from this place, and this identity, my identity.

While I am proud to be Salvadoran, many people are surprised to learn that I am Salvadoran, assuming…I’m not sure what. Whatever it is that others picture when they picture a “Salvadoran,” apparently, it isn’t me. It might be what I must admit is a “valley girl” accent, or my stilted Spanish, or it might be that I grew up in the San Francisco Bay and that is where I was socialized to be the hippy geek that I am today.

For years, I felt ambivalent about becoming a U.S. citizen. The U.S. involvement in the civil war that killed 80,000 Salvadorans and caused my family to flee to the U.S. was something that made the idea of becoming an official “American” a dark prospect, as if I’d be siding with the “bad guy” in the context of El Salvador’s history. For years, I thought of doing a dual citizenship, but the U.S. doesn’t even recognize dual citizenship with El Salvador, so that was out.

Finally, it wasn’t my yearning to have a say in American politics, or even my sense of belonging in the U.S., that forced my hand. It was the birth of my first daughter, an American citizen.

When I got pregnant, I realized that it was insane to stay a legal “alien” with children who were American. What if something awful happened and the U.S. decided to expel immigrants like me? I didn’t want anything to be a barrier between me and my children. So I did what my parents could never bring themselves to do and I naturalized.

It was the right thing, not just for those personal reasons, but because as an educator I am working every day to empower young (and not so young) people — to help them use their voices in pursuit of their goals. I believe in the spirit of community and service.

I will raise my girls to know that they count; therefore, they are obligated to use their voices and their hands and their power for the good of others. It’s my responsibility not only to vote in this country where I have built my life, but to commit myself to this place, as a full citizen and do my best to make it the kind of place I am proud to call home.

Am I still Salvadoran? Por su puesto! But am I American too? Totally.

{Photo by  ©HTO3}

As a Spanglish baby myself, exposing my 2 year old daughter to the measure of Spanish necessary to develop a respectable level of fluency has been daunting. As her primary caregiver, and sole Spanish speaker in our home, my own weakness in fluency is ever present. But as I continue to expose, communicate and deposit our second language into my mini Latina, an entirely new question has been posed: can she even be considered a Latina?

My Alina is a 2 year old unlike most 2 year olds you might know. With sass and keen awareness uncommon for such a pint sized person, she artfully conveys her intended message to those willing to absorb it. I take pride in cultivating my free thinker. But when she approached and seemingly conquered issues of race, identity and with one flailing swoop ousted me as “different,” my urge to restrict this impending mindset took hold.

As a product of a loving union between me, a full blooded Cubana, and my African American husband, Alina is biracial. Bicultural, if you prefer. Or, according to my 2 year old, she is simply black like Daddy. And Mommy? She’s “different.” While I was prepared to one day discuss issues of racial identity with our beautiful daughter (albeit not this young), I had never considered that the questionable identity would be my own. And, I lament, my daughter’s classification that so casually stripped our sameness caused a stir in my heart. What mother wants to be different from their children, their daughter? Maybe because I am in an interracial marriage, with biracial children, it may surprise you to know: not this one. I don’t want to be different from my kids. And it just never occurred to me that I was.

What finally did occur to me is this: maybe Alina isn’t Latina just because her mom is Latina. In its purposed core, my dedication to bilingualism has always been somewhat self-serving. As Latinos, our language unifies us throughout a spectrum of cultures, skin colors and histories. I wanted Alina to speak Spanish so that, no matter what the world said, she could take ownership of her Latina, the part of her which is me. Bilingualism is wonderful for so many reasons, but my chore of exposure is motivated by the retention of the me in her, the different in her.

After some critical thinking and the foresight granted to those who allow time to bestow it, I realized that my heart’s pressing question to be or not to be Latina is not one centered on Alina’s identity. It rested heavily on my own.

As a Spanglish baby, all grown up, I have openly wondered if I am Latina enough to be considered Latina; if my lack luster command of our language restricts the ownership of my blood that I am privy to. And while I am not quite certain the answer of that yet, what remains a feverish passion is raising a daughter who one day can. Sure, at 2 years young, Alina is nowhere near ready to define her personal identity. But as the catalyst of awareness to the many struggles of identity that exist within me, Alina’s enjoyment and yearning to speak Spanish has reminded me that “different” can be Latina too.

So, from one different Latina to the next, we wish all our hermanas on their quest of Latina-hood a very joyous journey to self awareness. Different is beautiful. Alina and I are each uniquely different Latinas. And, as I remind my beautiful little girl, in our differences there lies so much of the same.

photo by paulshaffner

Once we were married, my husband and I had put the worst behind us. Our families ended up showing for the wedding, despite our being interracial and interfaith, and that was a triumph on its own. Not long afterward, we were due for our daughter, Lilyana. We waited anxiously to find out what she would act and look like and how her beautiful little voice would sound. But, the news of our coming hijita brought new challenges in dealing with our family. There were fears from our families about how she would be raised, with what culture, which language and who’s values.

My husband and I knew that we would teach her both sides of her heritage and intertwine them together, but our families doubted just how well biracial children could grasp either side of their dual heritage and worried that one might “invade” the other. When it came to raising our daughter bilingual my family had fears that they would be left out and unable to communicate with our daughter and his family worried that she wouldn’t have enough Spanish fluency to grasp her heritage as a Latina. Both sides of the argument concerned us as parents. We spent much of the first year of our daughter’s life easing the fears of our families and demonstrating to them the “completeness” of our intercultural family identity.

When it came to bilingual fluency, I never feared that my daughter would lose her English abilities, as my family did. Neither myself or my husband are fluent in Spanish, so it has never been a concern for us. But unfortunately, we often heard criticism from some members of my family who didn’t appreciate hearing a language that they couldn’t understand, even if it was only just a few words of affection here and there. It got to the point where we were not “allowed” to speak Spanish when we were around my family.

On the other end of the spectrum, my in-laws would push our daughter to respond in Spanish and criticize our parenting skills if she didn’t respond to their liking. They would refuse her if she didn’t communicate in Spanish and I would watch my daughter turn away hurt, because she couldn’t gain their affections. On both sides we were hurt by family members who failed to see that they were alienating our little bilingual familia by expecting us to be one way or another out of their own personal fears.

My daughter is nearly three now and I’m disappointed that I can’t claim that these issues are completely behind us, but I’m encouraged that my family has grown in their understanding of our multicultural lifestyle. Mis sobrinos bounce on their mommys’ knees chanting, “brinca! brinca! brinca!“, they love to ask “uncle Ricky” about Mexican culture and foods, and they now feel justified in starting conversations with Latinos that they meet at school or in the supermarket. TV shows like Dora and Handy Manny have helped further by educating non-Spanish speaking niños on tidbits of language and culture…helping them to feel like “insiders” rather than “outsiders” and opening children up to a whole new world of diversity that they would otherwise be a foreigner to. This helps them to feel that they have a claim to Latino culture and makes it easier for us when we visit because they want to talk about it with us. I know that it’s because of our family’s influence and I’m proud of that progress.

Despite the fact that there is still racial tension between our families, the heightened awareness and acceptance of Latino culture by my nephews makes me very hopeful for the future. Everyone in our family has come to adore our daughter despite prejudice, and for most, their fears about her developing language confusion have slowly fizzled out. My family is learning more Spanish and becoming more comfortable with bilingual communication overall, and mis sobrinos take pride in their connection to Latino heritage and all the new words and ideas they are discovering. Amongst her primos, my daughter is “the cool one”…now that is cool!

Chantilly Patiño lives in the Midwest and loves to explore new cultures and relationships. As well as being the founder of MulticulturalFamilia.com, she writes on her personal blog, BiculturalMom.com, about diversity, discrimination, parenting, relationships, and other important topics relevant to ‘bicultural’ families.