Dodging the Abyss

My mother is Mexican, she was born there and came to this country when she married my father in 1954. My father is an American of Irish and German descent. My parents settled in my dad’s hometown of Brooklyn, NY. Mom was only 17 yrs old, far from home and living with my father’s family. She came here not speaking English, a scared young girl in a foreign land. She was thrust into this new experience under the ever critical, at times over bearing presence of my grandmother. She learned to speak, read and write English, all on her own. It was immersion language training before it became the “in” thing.

I loved my grandmother dearly, but she was a very imposing woman, not so much in size, but in personality. She had very distinct opinions on things and did not hesitate to share them with anyone. She believed that my siblings and I should be raised as true Americans, completely anglicized. We were to be spoken to in English only. We were basically to know little to nothing of our other heritage. Considering the fact that my father’s heritage is mixed and my mother’s is not, we are actually more Mexican than anything else, but were not raised this way.

I first learned Spanish, by taking it in public school in junior high. My first trip to Mexico was at the age of 9. That was when I first met my other grandparents. I couldn’t even speak the language to actually talk with them, but we shared the language of love. I adored my abuelo at first sight. Unfortunately, he died the following year after that initial trip. I will always treasure that time I got to spend with him, as well as mourn all that we missed out on in my not getting to know him well.

When I go to Mexico or California or New Mexico to visit my relatives, I long to feel a true part of their world. I feel like an outsider - watching, admiring, longing to join, to be accepted. Although, I took 8 yrs worth of Spanish in school and can understand most of what is spoken to me, I lack the confidence of a native speaker. But, it is so much more than the language. It is the lack of shared experiences, the cultural identity that I feel was my birthright, but was kept from me.

I do not blame my mother. She did was she felt was best for us. I don’t even blame my grandmother. I don’t blame anyone. I just have a huge emptiness where a feeling of belonging should be. At 40 yrs old, I feel as if half my life has been spent searching for something. I only wish I could figure out how to find it, embrace it and own it without feeling like an outsider pretending to be something I’m not.