Regardless of political affiliation, I would find it very hard to believe that any Latino out there didn’t think San Antonio Mayor Julián Castro‘s keynote speech at the Democratic National Convention earlier this week was inspiring. Castro spoke so passionately and lovingly about his abuelita, his upbringing and all the hurdles his family has overcome that I’m sure many Latinos identified with him immediately.

Hearing him sprinkle his speech with Spanish here and there was music to my ears. But I, like many other Latinos out there, erroneously assumed he was bilingual. I don’t know if it was because during his speech he said his grandmother, who didn’t finish elementary school, taught herself to read and write in Spanish. Or because his mother, Rosie Castro, was a staunch supporter of the Chicano movement back in the 70s, belonging to a particular organization called La Raza Unida which believed maintaining the mother tongue was of extreme importance. Then again, maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part.

That’s why it was a letdown to discover that the current Latino star within the Democratic party “doesn’t really speak Spanish,” as Castro himself admitted in a New York Times profile back in 2010. Armed with this information, some in the media wasted no time launching into the tired, old-age debate about whether speaking Spanish makes you more or less of a real Latino. Really? Who cares? Saying that someone is not Latino enough if he doesn’t speak Spanish is as absurd as saying that someone is not American enough if he is bilingual. 

In any event, while everyone debates that topic to death, I, on the other hand, am more intrigued by this: why is it exactly that Latinos like Julián Castro and many others like him don’t speak Spanish? While heartbreaking, the answer is very simple, as Castro’s own mother, Rosie, explained in an interview, this is what her teachers would do back when she was in school:

“They would charge us a quarter if you were caught speaking Spanish, and incidentally that’s how much lunch cost. We were put down so often that the message was clear — Spanish was a bad language that shouldn’t be spoken.”

Although it saddens my soul to hear comments like this one, I am no longer shocked by them. One of the most fascinating aspects of moving from Miami to Denver six years ago, has been getting to know an entirely new — and completely different — Latino culture than the one I was used to in the Cuban-American dominated city where I lived for almost 20 years. You see, the Mexican-American experience in the West and the Southwest is nothing like that of their Latin American counterparts in other parts of the country.

A few months after I arrived in Denver, I started noticing there was a much larger Latino population than I had originally thought. The majority, however, didn’t actually speak Spanish… and that was definitely shocking. After a while, I came to understand that for many, Spanish was a language that had caused them and their ancestors many sorrows, discrimination and hatred, just like Rosie Castro explained in the quote above.

Imagine then why a mom who grew up bilingual but felt the wrath of speaking Spanish would choose to teach their children her native tongue? I’m sure you can see how no mother in her right mind would want her children to be associated with a language that had brought her so much pain. Not to mention that for many immigrants learning to speak English is paramount to both them and their offspring — despite what many anti-immigration organizations would like us to believe. Add to that the many misconceptions surrounding bilingualism, including the unfounded idea that in order to learn English you need to forget Spanish, and you have the perfect answer to why Julián Castro and many other Latinos like him don’t really speak Spanish.

As discouraging as all this is, Ana and I want to — have to — believe that things are no longer like that, that things are changing. We  know from the amazing community we’ve help put together right here that many Latinos who weren’t taught Spanish as children don’t want to follow in their parents’ footsteps. So they are doing everything within their power to reclaim that part of their heritage.

Not sure if Julián Castro is one of them — though that would be extraordinary. But I do know that, according to different news reports, he was at some point being instructed by a Spanish tutor. Hopefully he’ll decide to pass what he’s been learning to his beautiful little daughter Carina. Not because that will make them more or less Latino, but because I believe in the power of bilingualism. Plus, I’m sure that would make Julián’s abuelita smile down on them from heaven.

This article was also featured on Mamiverse.com. ¡Gracias!

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.