But You’re American 

This story begins with an American Dream. An American Dream that two immigrant adults once sought after. Two separate paths, traveling miles and miles which eventually aligned in the same road. These two immigrants were my parents, who had just arrived in the state of New York from Mexico. The year 2004 came and their first-born child was born, a boy to be exact. That was the boy that represented both their Mexican and American pride. Growing up as the first-born American child to my immigrant parents was and still is linguistically challenging for the most part. It is a constant battle of mastering both the language which my parents grew up with and the one I am required to understand.  

(Map of Oaxaca, Mexico where my mother was born) 

My first form of literature began during pre-k at the age of 4. I was taught the basics of reading and writing like any other student. I would read classic children’s books such as Goodnight Moon, The Rainbow Fish, and my favorite at the time The Very Hungry Caterpillar. My English was progressing day by day which became noticeable at home. “Que aprendiste?” What did you learn is what they would ask me every day after school, a question that still lingers in my ear to this day. They always expected a lot from me, possibly because I was their only son at the time, or possibly didn’t want me to end up without an education like they did. As I dove further into my English-speaking skills, I realized I was forgetting about my Hispanic roots, and I was oblivious to it. My first language as a child was Spanish considering that was the only language they spoke. When English was brought into the picture, it took over my entire vocabulary. Spanish to me was just a way of communicating with my family members and had no other use. However, the unexpected arrived during my elementary parent-teacher conferences. Most of my teachers only spoke English and needed translators when it was my turn to discuss with them with my mom. There were no translators at the time, and it was up to me to help my mother comprehend what was being discussed. My second-grade teacher, Mrs. Witherell, began by explaining the grades I had received and about my academics/behavior. I was immediately humbled when she asked me to tell my mother the exact words she said but in Spanish. I was paralyzed and unable to translate, despite understanding everything I was told in English. “No se como decirlo, pero yo entendi esta parte” I do not know how to explain it, but I understood this part is what I would say. The fake smile on my mother’s face said it all. After the conference ended, she simply could not understand. How was I not able to translate for her if I speak both languages? She was heavily disappointed and didn’t bother looking at me on our way home. I explained to her that I didn’t know how to translate what I was told simply because I honestly didn’t know how. “Pero tu eres Americano, tu tienes que saber” But you’re American, you should know how. 

Eight years go by, my second year of high school. I recently received my grade for my English regents, above an 85. A huge milestone for me in which I took immense pride in. I was still applying myself to mastering my Spanish. I was taking my second year of Spanish class and it enlightened me so much. My Spanish speaking and writing skills improved by a huge margin. I was finally breaking the language barriers that conflicted me in the past. “Como Agua Para Chocolate” Like Water for Chocolate was one of the many movies that I analyzed in my Spanish class that evoked my speaking skills and end the language barrier I once had. One thing I learned from my struggle of understanding two languages is that I have to treat it equally and not as if it were two separate identities. They’re both a reflection of myself and my parents, making the two languages equally significant.   

Overall, my message to whomever comes across my story is this; it’s okay to struggle with dialect. It’s okay if you can’t understand something in a different language, or even your main dialect. It’s okay to dive into your culture in order to understand it better. You’ll be okay. Not everyone will get it the first try, language and literature is a process that takes time; it’s a reflection of one’s life experience and every life experience is distinct from one another.