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

One day when I was teaching ESL, I was working with a group of students from Mexico and Central America. Pencils scratched the paper, the energy was electric, the excitement palpable: we were filling out their applications for a program at a community college that would allow them to take a class over the summer.

And the, we got to the demographic section:

“Miss, am I white, black, Asian, or American Indian?” asked a young girl from El Salvador. The group burst out laughing and some said she should write in “brown,” while others told her to check the “Hispanic” box. I read over the sheet… The EEOC (Equal Employment Opportunity Commission) that collects federal data on race and ethnicity in the workforce uses five racial distinctions: American Indian or Alaska Native; Asian; Black or African American; Native Hawaiian or Other Pacific Islander; and White. Separately, they include one ethnicity category: Hispanic or Latino.

I didn’t know which race the students should mark, so I called the college later that day for clarification. The person who answered told me that the students should choose from the choices given. I explained that the students were from Mexico and Central America, and didn’t feel they fit into any of the categories. In a hushed tone, she told me “if they’re not black, have them mark white and then Hispanic for ethnicity.”

When we reconvened, the students were outraged:

“How can you tell us we’re white when our whole lives in the US we’re told we’re not!?”

“Teacher, look at my skin!!! Does it look white?”

“I’m marking American Indian. México es parte de las Américas, no?”

“I’m not putting anything for race!”

The race conundrum is not new, and it’s not going anywhere. Many Latinos view this categorization as a question of culture and language, not of race. A percentage of the population will leave the race box blank, while some will check the “other” box. Others ask “why is it important for the U.S. government to know the racial background or ethnicity of their citizens?”

It all comes down to money: $400 billion of federal money (from our taxes) that needs to be allocated annually, based on population demographics to pay for schools, transportation, public health and other vital social programs, such as English-language education and job training. When people do not check a box, a computer “guesses” their race, based on the neighborhood and other factors.

In 1977, the federal government declared “Hispanic” would be considered an ethnicity, not a race. They decided that citizens could identify with being “Hispanic” or “not Hispanic” and after identifying themselves as one of the five recognized “races” white, black, Asian, American Indian or Pacific Islander. (note: though indigenous people are genetically related- from the northernmost point of the Arctic to the southernmost point of Argentina- the American Indian box was reserved specifically for the 564 tribes residing in the U.S. that are federally recognized).

Multiple ethnic groups felt misplaced: which box should a Bedouin from North Africa or Egyptian check? Where did a Peruvian of Quechua descent fit? (the U.S. Census said both should choose “white”). What if your mom was Japanese, and your dad was Jamaican? (at that time, the U.S. Census said “pick one”).

For the first time, on the 2000 U.S. Census, multiracial people were allowed to check more than one race, and about 3% of the nation did so. In fact, multicultural families are one of the fastest growing demographics groups in the nation, as interracial marriage is growing.

In the same census, about 18 million Latinos (around 37%) checked the “Hispanic” box and when asked about race, self-identified as “some other race.” Some other race… In fact, Latinos have a mixed heritage that might include European, indigenous, African, and Asian ancestry.

Latinos were perplexed again by “race” choices in the 2010 census: White, Black, American Indian, Chinese, Filipino, Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Native Hawaiian and Samoan. With these choices, where did Latinos fit in?

Now, for the 2020 U.S. Census, the Census Bureau is thinking about combining ethnicity and race questions into a single “race or origin” category. If so, “Hispanic” may be a choice. While some groups argue that “race” is invented by man, a social construct, others are thrilled the Latinos are being considered and included. As a multicultural family, we will be marking several boxes on the next census, though knowing that we are all truly one race: the human race.

What do you think about the possible changes to the census?

{Photo by  moodboardphotography }

An article published earlier this week in The New York Times titled “For Young Latino Readers, an Image Is Missing” has created a flurry of commentary about the dire need for more children’s books with which our Latino kids can identify. In other words, more children’s books with characters that look like them and with storylines that speak to them.

While I would love nothing more than to see all Latino authors been given the opportunity to be published, I’m having a hard time accepting that to boost reading skills among Latino children the characters in the books available to them need to look like them, as implied by the article.

First of all, what does a Latino child look like? I thought that the recent brouhaha with Disney’s Princess Sofia reminded us that Latinos come in all shades and colors. At least that’s what we were trying to prove when we asked you to share a photo of your princesa with us. If you visit our #LatinaPrincess Pinterest board, you’ll see that, in effect, our children come from all races, backgrounds and heritages. So, to say that there are not enough books out there for our Latino children to identify with is a lie because there are plenty of books with light-skinned, light-eyed, light-haired protagonists that look just like many Latino children I know — including Camila, Ana’s daughter.

Same thing goes for the Latino experience. What exactly is that? Well, it depends on whom you ask. My Puerto Rican husband’s Latino experience as an American citizen who grew up in La Isla del Encanto is nothing like my Latino experience as a Peruvian citizen who was raised in four countries in three continents before moving to the United States as a teenager. Nor is it anything like that of our own two children who were born and are being raised in the suburbs of Denver, Colorado. With that I’m trying to say that if my 6-year-old daughter reads a story about a Mexican-American child making tortillas with her abuelita, she won’t be able to relate to that at all because she’s not Mexican-American and her abuelita doesn’t even know how to boil water! That, however, doesn’t mean she won’t enjoy the book.

Secondly, whoever thinks children’s love of reading comes solely from whether or not they see themselves reflected in the books they’re reading is completely delusional. As a bookworm who grew up to be a journalist in part because of my love of reading, I can tell you first hand that one thing has very little to do with the other. Let me explain why. I fell in love with books at a very young age because I felt transported to other worlds without having to leave my room. Later on, my love of books continued growing when I saw myself in the characters I read about, not because they looked like me, but rather because I identified with their stories, their hardships, their triumphs. In the end, it’s not about the color of the characters’ skins or their ethnicities, but about the authenticity of their experiences.

Truth be told, though, most of what I’ve always enjoyed reading is stuff I don’t identify with at all. Stories that enrich me and open up my mind to possibilities I didn’t even know existed. Books that teach me about the world around me and expose me to experiences I would not be privy to otherwise.

Now, a lot of people would say I’m lucky — and even unusual — because I grew up in a household full of book lovers, and they’re probably right. I honestly don’t know one single person who loved to read more than my own father who had a book or some other reading material in his hands at all times. I know for a fact that my own love of reading and literary curiosity comes directly from him, which brings me to my next and final point.

While there should definitely be more children’s books written by Latino authors, we should be more worried about whether we’re leading by example when it comes to instilling a love of reading in our children and whether we’re exposing them to all kinds of literature — not just the kind with characters that look like them.

The reason why SpanglishBaby exists today is because more than four years ago, as we were looking for bilingual and Spanish children’s books for our daughters, we realized there weren’t a lot of options. Or those that existed weren’t readily available. We weren’t necessarily looking only for books with characters our children could relate to, but rather for quality bilingual and Spanish-language ones we could enjoy with our girls to help them in their bilingual journey.

While there are not a tons of those out there, we have made it our mission to go in search for them so we can share them with all of you. Hopefully, you can help us spread the word and children’s books by publishing houses like Cinco Puntos Press, Arte Público and Children’s Book Press (now an imprint of Lew & Low) can make kids’ bookshelves more diverse — regardless of their own background and ethnicity.

{Photo by cesarastudillo}

I grew up in a community where Spanish and English were spoken simultaneously. My parents were definitely Spanish-dominant in their fluency and identity as Mexican immigrants. Most of their friends spoke Spanish and were from Spanish speaking countries. As a child I had to learn which of our guests primarily spoke Spanish, which often times were also the ones I gave a kiss on the cheek instead of a handshake. I lived in a bilingual and bicultural environment, but with that came moments where I had to decipher whether to use Spanish or English. Many times I was slightly relieved to be able to speak English because I had, what many would call, a pocha version of Spanish fluency.

I distinctly remember the first time I saw my abuelita smoking. I yelled across the room in astonishment, “Abuelita tu smokas!” My family laughed and at the time it seemed like their laughter echoed throughout the house. I forgot about my feeling of astonishment and felt ashamed, ashamed to not now how to speak their Spanish.  It was about that time where I dreaded having to speak that other language to some of our monolingual Spanish-speaking guests or community members. It was about that time where sticking to one language became a strategy for me. I would remind myself that so-and-so only spoke or preferred Spanish, but with so-and-so English was okay.

These experiences have shaped the way I relate to being bilingual today. They relate to the ways I have decided to raise my daughter with multiple languages. Specifically, they relate to the ways I decide to communicate in Spanish or English with people in my life. With Sabrina, Spanish plays a very intimate role. Spanish is the language my mother used with me so in many ways the words flow naturally out of my mouth when I am interacting with my baby. I use Spanish freely to communicate with community members who I know are Spanish dominant in their proficiency. I have a really hard time speaking in Spanish to individuals who learned it while studying/working abroad or in school. I have a really hard time communicating with people who learned it because they love Spanish or languages. Speaking Spanish to me wasn’t a choice; it is a language I was born with.

When those individuals communicate with me in Spanish I find it to be an invasion of privacy. There is a clear distance between as — as acquaintance, as colleague, as a stranger-— and they have crossed that line. They don’t fit into my category as — guest, family member, or intimate friend. I revert to the uncomfortable tendencies toward languages and social situations as a child and cannot help but respond strictly in English. All the while hoping that they realize English is our established mode of communication and that Spanish is reserved for intimate relationships.

I have been thinking about why I choose to speak in Spanish to certain people but not to others. This has led me to question my own proficiency in Spanish because I feel uncomfortable speaking it in certain contexts, but what I have come to realize is that communicating in Spanish to me is very personal. I speak it well. I just prefer to share that intimate language I have history with, all of it connected to very special people in my life, rather than use it as if it were a skill I learned studying abroad or in school. It’s much more than that to me. It defines every fiber of my identity.

{photo by  celebdu}

Do you ever wonder how your identity would be altered had you been born and raised in a different part of the country? The American Latino experience is vast indeed, but poignantly so when comparing the experiences of Latinos living on the polar coasts of our great nation.

As a Cuban growing up in the beach suburbs of Los Angeles, many years before communities such as ours at SpanglishBaby existed, there was truly only one reality for the Latino experience: Mexican. Where I was from, if you were brown and spoke Spanish, you were Mexican. Not even Latino. Not Hispanic. Certainly not Cuban. And while there are so many beautiful aspects of the Mexican culture that I admire and enjoy, they were not mine to identify with. Perhaps it was my small town of middle-income beach dwellers that lacked the cultural (and geographical) astuteness to realize the myriad of experiences Latinos encompass. Perhaps communities closer to the city center were more diverse, more sensitive, to all that the Latino experience can be. My coastal American Latino experience was not one of solidarity or camaraderie. I didn’t have a community of Latinos with similar Spanish accents, cultural traditions and loud-mouthed family members. Ultimately, as a West Coast American Latina, I didn’t really feel Latina at all.

Sometimes I wonder who I would be if I was born and raised on the other side of the country. I wonder who I would be if I lived in Miami, specifically. Even other parts of South Florida, where Cubans run ramped and so does the espresso, sipped in doll sized tea cups. I wonder, had I been raised on the Eastern seaboard, if I would think in Spanish. Or dream in Spanish. I wonder if I would have Spanish speaking friends. Maybe some from Peru. Or Nicaragua. And Mexico, too. My alternative identity would be sure of her brown skin, curly hair, quick tongue and wicked style. My other coastal identity would love to speak Spanish in public; she’d probably look down on Spanglish speakers like me. Even still, there are moments when I could feel that alternative identity surface, when I feel distinctly Latina, and it is a feeling of wholeness that is parallel to none.

I loved my beach bummed childhood. Spending hours upon hours sitting on long stretches of sand, listening to the ocean churn lullabies of quiet peace have most certainly impacted my identity. I’m a beach girl at heart, even now as I live in the middle of a desert I ache for the sway of the oceanic melodies. But as far as my American Latino experience, my coastal experience just didn’t cut it. And yes, sometimes I wonder who I would be if I was born and raised in a different part of the country.

{Photo courtesy of Vanessa}

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.

Part of the first chapter in our forthcoming book, Bilingual is Better, deals with the ongoing debate of how we identify ourselves. Are we Latinos? Are we Hispanics? Or are we something else? So I was pretty interested in the results of a Pew Hispanic Center survey on this very topic that came out last week.

I’ve never really liked the word Hispanic because I feel it implies I come from Spain, which I don’t. I’m okay with the word Latina because I feel it’s short for latinoamericana, which I am. But whenever anybody wants to know how I identify, I say I’m peruana because that it was I am and I will always be, even after living in the States for almost 25 years.

Surprisingly, most Latinos (51%) feel the same way, preferring to identify with their family’s country of origin. Only 24% said they prefer to identify themselves with Latino or Hispanic. And among those who did, they preferred the term Hispanic over the term Latino by more than a two-to-one margin. Another surprise, at least for me, since I thought Hispanic was more of an outdated term.

In the end, does any of this really matter? My husband says that all these are just labels that don’t make a difference one way or the other. In fact, check out the comment he left on my Facebook page when I asked my friends about this topic:

“I’m a human being. Labels don’t really matter. Most people I know who concern themselves with labels end up feeling less than, or feel they need to prove themselves. Secondly, any people I know who bother themselves with who they are based on where they were born or where they live, have problems moving within other cultural circles which are different to theirs.”

Since I don’t fit his description at all, I don’t agree with him. I know labels are just that, labels, but I feel that in this case it has a lot to do with pride for my ancestry and heritage.

What about you? What do you think?

{Image by Shreveport-Bossier: Louisiana’s Other Side}

cliff1066™

Trying to define what it means to me to be Hispanic or Latina is a question I have asked myself all my life and in a few paragraphs I will try to come to a satisfying answer.

It’s important to understand that, although I was born in the United States, the fact that I was raised in Mexico makes me a Mexican. However, the fact that I went to college in the U.S., that I have voted in the last five elections, and that now I have lived away from Mexico for over ten years, and that my daughter was born in Ohio, makes me an American. So I guess, I’m Mexican-American. Which means that I have a little bit of both Mexico and the U.S. in me. However, whenever I visit Spain, I feel at home and I know quite a lot about its people and its culture. I wonder therefore, if Hispanic or Latina would be betters term for who I am, since I do not believe that an identity is defined in national/political terms, but in cultural practices that are circumscribed to language uses, food and traditions.

American-Spanish-Mexican?

First of all, my first language is Spanish, but I do not speak the language the way I used to. People are always telling me that I do not speak like other Mexicans they know. Even my own family says to me that, sometimes, I speak either like an American speaking Spanish or like a Spaniard since I use many expressions and sayings from Spain (more than from Mexico). For the past ten years, English has become the language I use on a daily basis, I speak to many of my friends in English and I find myself forgetting words in Spanish when I speak to my family. However, I am not completely an American.

Although I do not have a Spanish-native speaker accent when I speak English I still make mistakes sometimes when using American expressions or when I pronounce certain words. For instance, I have been made fun of for saying “nose trails” instead of “nostrils,” I love watching TV with captions and I never enjoy karaoke because I do not know many of the songs. But I am not a Spaniard either since I do not pronounce my c or z with a sound similar to the “th” in English, but some people in the Canary Islands and Andalucía do not do that either, and I grew up listening to many Spanish singers and groups. So, sometimes I wonder if I’m actually an American-Spanish-Mexican.

Mexican-Spanish-American?

Second, I’m a truly puritan when it comes to Mexican food. Please don’t tell me that chimichangas and fajitas are “Authentic Mexican Food” because they are not. They are Tex-Mex or even from New Mexico, and they are fine but they are not Mexican. My favorite Mexican dishes are “Mole Poblano” and “Chiles en nogada,” however, these are not popular dishes from the part of Mexico my family is from (Chihuahua). I once called my mother and asked her for the recipe of the “nogada” (a cheese and walnut sauce) and she didn’t know how to make it. I then asked her “¿Qué tipo de mexicana eres? (What kind of Mexican are you?),” and she said “¡Soy norteña! (I’m from the north!).”

I realized then that the five years I spent in Georgia made me a very different kind of Mexican. I crave foods I didn’t use to eat when I was growing up and I wonder if it has to do with the fact that I feel displaced from Mexico. The distance has also Americanized me. I have stopped eating hot/spicy foods, I don’t eat tortillas with every meal, and margaritas have become one of my favorite drinks. I also eat more pizza, meatloaf and hamburgers than I ever did. The fact that I do not eat Mexican food all the time has made me a different kind of Mexican. I’ll try all kinds of food, just make sure that there is no cilantro or cumin since I cannot stand these spices (which makes a lot of people wonder if I’m truly Mexican) and many do not understand that not ALL Mexican food is made with them.

Being a Spanish Peninsularist has also made me aware of Spanish food. I make a wonderful “Spanish tortilla”, killing “patatas bravas”, and delicious “empanada galega,” to name a few. I do crave “pimientos de piquillo” and “pimientos de Padrón,” along with “trufas” and “crema catalá”. So I guess my tastes have changed with time and I wonder if I should be called then Mexican-Spanish-American.

Spanish-American-Mexican?

Third, traditions are a big part of all cultures. I have broken with many Mexican traditions.

I no longer live at home and do not plan on going back, but I didn’t leave my parents home until I was 29 years old (even when I went to college I did it by crossing the Mexico-U.S. border every day). I’m the only woman in my family (immediate and extended) that has pursued a PhD. For a long time, I was not interested in getting married or having kids but then, one day, after my mother passed away I found myself married to a former boyfriend (from Mexico) and pregnant with my daughter. When I got married, I was happy my husband was from Mexico, but it was (and still is) important for me that he understand that I’m both Mexican and American (and a little bit Spanish), that I speak English and Spanish (and Galego), that I love Mexican food but that’s not all I like to eat.

In the past, I always thought that if I had children I would like them to keep my last name and be named Ian or Brianna. When I did have my daughter I told my husband I wanted our daughter to have my first name first (not typical), so she has a combined last name and mine is first. I did change my mind about her name. I wanted a Spanish name, but one that was easy to be pronounced for English speakers, and one that would let me connect my daughter to Spain. So we chose Isabel, but we call her Isa.

I have also incorporated new traditions into my life. My new favorite celebrations are Halloween (I love pumpkin-carving) and Thanksgiving (I make a wonderful turkey), and what I love the most about them is that I have a new family (my friends) to celebrate them with. I also enjoy the Spanish celebrations for the “Día de San Juan”, I enjoy drinking a “clara” on a hot summer day and eating good “tapas” with a nice glass of wine, and I hope to one day own a house in Spain, which, I guess, will then make me Spanish-American-Mexican.

There is not a simple answer to: What does being Hispanic/Latin@ mean to you? To me, it means being plurilingual and pluricultural. It means to understand three (or more) groups of people and to be a part of them. To me, being who I am means to be the embodiedment of the Mexico-United States border with some splashes of Spain. People can call me Hispanic or Latina, I do not really have a preference, I just like to call myself: Mexican-American-Spanish (in any order).

Eugenia Romero is a Spanish Literatures and Cultures professor at The Ohio State University. She is also the mother of a vivacious, beautiful four-year-old girl named Isabel (Isa). A native from El Paso, Texas-Ciudad Juárez border, she often struggled with issues on national identity. The birth of her daughter put many things into perspective, and nothing sounds better than listening to Isa singing and speaking in Spanish.

photo by Sidi Guariach

I struggled a lot in writing this post. Not because it was difficult really, but because this is my husband’s story and it’s one that I don’t take lightly. I really wanted to do justice to the challenges that he’s faced, and ones that we are now facing as a family. I know that we all have different stories to tell and I believe that we all need to be heard. With that in mind, I want to share part of our journey with families who might be facing similar challenges.

My husband was raised in Laredo, a small border town in south Texas. At the age of 13, his family packed up all their belongings and decided to make a life in Michigan, where his father was born. They moved there looking for a better life, but what they found was an unimaginable culture shock and a world so very different from anything they had known.

Previously, my hubby had grown up in a land of Catholics and Tejanos. But, living in Michigan, he was suddenly aware that he couldn’t identify in the same way anymore. His parents, cousins…his whole family was Mexican, so there was no need to point it out. But now, being the minority, he heard labels like “Mexican”, “Latino” and “Hispanic” often. They were forced upon him along with various slurs about his less than acceptable heritage. It seemed he couldn’t escape being reminded that he was different, an outsider, “Mexican”. In Texas, he’d only identified as “Ricardo” or “Riqui”, but when his family arrived in Michigan, he was pushed to change his name to “Rick” or “Richard”. His father insisted that they study more English and get rid of their Spanish accents, in an effort to fit in with the more assimilated families…the more “white” families.

My husband began to loath living in the north and questioned his parents often about when they would return to Laredo. He grew to hate his new name, “Rick” and fiercely defended his right to be called by his birth name, “Ricardo”. On several occasions, he’s recounted to me how his grandmother in Michigan, a mexicana born south of the border, refused to call him by his name, the one that he’d known and come to identify with for so many years. He would get so upset that he would hang up the phone on her or refuse to visit with her if she wouldn’t address him in Spanish. It was like a slap in the face to him. Here he was, unaccepted by so many in this strange place, and even his familia made him feel like an outsider, like a “no good, dirty Mexican.”

I’m sure it was disheartening enough coming to a place where you were ridiculed for being “Mexican” and chased down empty streets by Aryan nationals spouting racial slurs. I can’t imagine having to go home and be renounced by your own father, uncles and grandparents for “acting too Mexican.”

Growing up between the two communities wasn’t easy. Over the next 20 some years, my husband struggled with balancing his identity. He struggled to fit in and get along. But his forced assimilation by his father left him barely speaking Spanish and isolated from the Hispanic community. He was too gringo to fit in with most Latinos and too Mexican to fit in with mainstream America. This left him in an odd place and it was difficult for him to relate to individuals on either side of the divide. Over time, he has come to realize that being Mexican is a source of pride. He’s learned his history, found his roots and allowed himself to let go of the stereotypes and just be Ricardo.

As a family, we’re facing another challenge together; how to raise a confident, bilingual, Latina daughter. Sounds easy, right? I mean, he is Latino after all…he has that in his favor. But how do you teach your child Spanish when you’re not fluent yourself? How do you include Mexican heritage in your daily life when you’ve missed out on so much of it? How do you raise your daughter to be confident and shake off criticism when you struggle with it so much yourself?

We take it day by day, practice our Spanish frequently, do plenty of online research into our history, attend every cultural event within traveling range, cook a variety of Mexican dishes, crank the Latin jams and meet up with other Latino parents who have similar concerns.

We give each other support and we look to others for understanding. Even with all that we have done to take part in our heritage and create our family identity, we still can’t help but wonder, “Will it be enough to instill in her a sense of belonging and a confidence about who she is?” Only time will tell.

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.

Photo credit: ConsipiracyofHappiness

As I typed out the title of this posting I could not help but form a smirk on my face. Here’s the deal. The further I delve into the work of identity construction in my doctoral program, the more I realize that individuals take on multiple identities depending on the context they are in, including several other elements that come into play. Even in the previous sentence I wrote there are several words I would have to define to explain exactly what I mean about identity construction and how it happens to possibly relate to living a trilingual life. Herein lie my dilemmas as a bloguera/academic writer:  almost everything that makes up academia has made me question the most general observation or statement about language acquisition.

I guess what I am trying to explain is that no matter how I attempt to shape our lives so that Sabrina learns three languages, she will always be negotiating her identity, just as we all do. What’s amazing is that many of us don’t even realize that we do this. At least I didn’t prior to studying the concept of identity. Sure I was conscious of the way I acted differently with family, friends, or colleagues, but if we were all aware of the little nuances that influence how we think, what we say, essentially who we are at a particular point of time, we would realize that learning multiple languages is not black and white. This is part of the reason I always question any language program, whether it’s for kids or adults.

Speaking of language programs, now that my bebita is 7-months-old, I have decided that most of her language learning is probably going to occur at home until she enters kindergarten. Most of the “day care” settings I would like her to participate in are mostly for children who are there full-time or nearly full-time. I learned that there is what they call a “mothers day out” and then there are “day care” settings, both of which have a different ambience. If there is a “mothers day out” with a Spanish or French immersion component, then I have not found it. That being said, my new plan is to continue exposing her to Spanish at home and create a time during the week to listen to French. Somehow, I have a feeling that I will constantly be adjusting our little plan as she gets older and as our lives change.

In fact, there are times when I ask myself, “Wouldn’t my life be a lot easier if I just spoke in English all the time?” When I start to think about language and how I want to expose my daughter to it as she grows I start to consider everything that is tied to acquiring multiple languages. I guess this is one of the reasons I am pursuing a PhD. I guess it only makes sense that I question and consider the multiple elements ties to learning languages. Its conflicting internal struggles like these that remind me of one of my favorite quotes, “Give me the bliss of the ignorant or give me the strength to bear the knowledge.” This quote rings true to my heart with various topics in life, but for some reason when it comes to language I just cannot seem to stop questioning how it functions.