![]() ![]() ![]() I’d ask, “Mexicans?” and they would say yes, it had to have been Mexicans because it happened at the construction site down the block. I started realizing I also belonged to another world when my friends and I started hitting puberty, and they would complain about Mexicans whistling at them. We shopped at the same stores, joined the same clubs, and so on.Įven though we had similarities, I knew I was different because I looked different, ate different foods and my parents spoke Spanish to each other. We lived in the same neighborhood, went to the same school, and our parents had similar jobs. I never really understood that I was any different than my Caucasian friends because we really weren’t. ![]() Growing up, I always lived in predominantly Caucasian neighborhoods in states that have very low Hispanic populations, thus the majority of my friends throughout my life have been Caucasian. Spanish might not seem like an important characteristic for all Mexican-Americans, but not knowing it in central Texas- an area where Spanish is spoken all over the region by Mexican-Americans-can surely make you feel like a foreigner.Īlthough I sometimes feel confused as to which world I belong to, there’s no question I’m first and foremost an American I’m the product of my Mexican grandparents’ American Dream, I’ve never been to Mexico (besides Cancun, where there are probably more American tourists than Mexicans) and I can’t say certain words in Spanish without revealing my obvious American accent. All my life I’ve lived between two worlds.Īs a Mexican-American, it’s easy to be confused as to which world you think you should identify with more I feel undoubtedly Mexican-American when I make tamales or listen to mariachis, but that feeling fades away when I speak broken Spanish. ![]()
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