Culture shock

Warning: There are no rants about immigration policies in the US and Mexico in the story below. I am saving myself for the day I can talk about it calmly.

Today is Cinco de Mayo, the American celebration of Mexico's Independence Day.

(That is what most people in the United States believe it is. I'll see you in September.)

I truly believe most people celebrate Cinco de Mayo because they can say it. Sin-ko de May-o. That's much easier than Dee-es-see-say-s de Se-pt-ee-yem-bray (16th of September, the actual Mexican Independence Day).

Now, as a United States citizen (easy Lorena, no rants) of full Mexican heritage and background, I know what Cinco de Mayo is and have partied with friends when that was an important thing to do. That is very easy to do when you live in Southern California. While not so hard to do in Idaho, my heritage isn't in my face here like it is in SoCal. I miss that. But most of all, I feel I'm doing a disservice to my kids.

I grew up knowing my great-grandmother well, her 14 kids, their assorted families and so on down the line. That was just one branch! My generation and my Mom's spoke both English and Spanish; past her, it was hit and miss, my grandfather spoke great English, my grandmother's was understandable to most but very heavily accented. Both languages were spoken freely, the food was common -- arroz, frijoles, tortillas, queso blanco, patas de puerco en chile -- the mariachi music was intermixed with English standards and Top 40, men wore t-shirts or guayaberas, the older women would talk of tejidos, and I lived both cultures at the same time.

David had my grandmother to watch him for the first three years of his life. He spoke Spanish, danced to banda music and asked for caldito or sopita, at lunch time.

In Idaho, away from the extended family and the frequent family gatherings, David has lost the heritage he had. Mackenzie has never known it. And it's not because I don't cook Mexican food, listen to music or watch TV in Spanish, have no Mexican items around the house, or don't speak Spanish at home. It's because I, as a mother and as a person of Mexican descent, have failed to instill in them that heritage.

Today, Mackenzie had a Cinco de Mayo party at school. She wore a dress my Mom had purchased for her and a red embroidered vest that had mine as a child. She proudly told everyone that she was half-Mexican, and I cringed every time I heard her say it. Not because she is half-Mexican (Keith has a few different heritages in his family, but none of them is Mexican) but because she seemed so gringa. There's absolutely no accent in the few Spanish words she knows, mostly food related, but some numbers and colors as well. (Thank you Dora the Explorer.) Her coloring, like mine, offers no hint at the Hispanic background she has. David likes some of my Mexican music and tries to learn the words; she has no desire to even listen to it (UGH!)

I'm hoping that our trip to Mexico this summer changes some of that for her. Both of them will be in Spanish camp for two weeks this summer, learning the language. I can add more music, more culture to our lives, but in between school, sports, friends, homework, pets, church, chores, and extremely few chances to practice what they've learned (David's dad doesn't speak Spanish either), I'm afraid it will all be for naught. I can't believe I'm having such a hard time passing on what is a big part of me to my kids. Have I lost something more than I thought?