Lost in Trans-Culture

Though I was only six years old and my cognitive skills were probably only beginning to develop I took in a lot from the culture I was being raised in. Mexican culture is typically stereotyped into large sombreros and Chihuahuas barking for tacos, at least by the ignorant, but that is not so. My early childhood consisted of finding reason in almost everything around me. I was young, but I remember constantly asking questions like why, how, what’s that, who’s he/she, and since when? Although I cannot recollect the answers I was given, the ideas were of a Mexican culture and the ideology of the society my parents were raised in which was now being passed down to me.

Kids love to run and play and I was no different. I was active and participated in many school activities and sports; for example, annual events where the children were dressed up as vaqueros and the girls wore long colorful dresses and a short and simple choreographed dance was executed for the viewing pleasure of the parents. There was a lot of differences and a lot of similarities between Mexico and Texas. I probably watched “most” of the same T.V. shows and movies as American children watched, but simply translated into Spanish. That simple “commodity” to Mexican audiences cost me the knowledge of idioms widely known and commonly used in the United States. I was kept away from experiences and events that were out of my realm because of what I was exposed to at home. If I wanted to learn how to fit in with my peers it was to be done on my own terms through trial and error.

Learning English was easy, assimilating into the American way of life was not. I wish there was some giant database that held all the movies, T.V. shows, songs, books, poems, places that should be visited, and people one should know about made for people like me, but there is not, or at least I have yet to learn about it. I was only six so no one asked me what I thought about leaving my home behind and moving to foreign land. I was picked on and laughed at for my thick accent, which has fully disappeared at this point, and was nearly held back after my first year of American education because I was unable to pass my English TASS. However, everywhere we went my parents needed me to translate for them. I translated when we bought our first car, our first apartment, our first home and the land it was placed on. We overpaid every single time. A seven year old boy does not have the authority or bark of a grown adult and that led to a lot of “tell your parents my hands are tied here; that’s the best we can do” when negotiating any purchase.

Only 15 years later I’m 21 and a senior at Texas State University studying English, of all things, 15 years later I still have no idea what my “identity” is. I know so little about the American culture because, even though I’ve lived here the majority of my life, I was still raised by Mexican parents who know nothing about what it means to be American. I don’t know the Classic Rock songs every parent shows their kid, I haven’t seen Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, or The Godfather, I don’t know who The Three Stooges are or what Star Trek is about. At the same time I don’t know who Pepe Aguilar is or Pedro Infante, I can’t even name a Mexican movie or T.V. show. Alienated from two cultures and not being able to claim either. I feel empty when my parents talk about “the homeland,” but I also feel empty when I can’t find a reason as to why I’m American.

Most of the memories I have of Mexico are more like mental pictures of vague moments I must’ve witnessed as a child. All I know is Texas, too, I’ve never left the state after coming here in 1999. Should I be defined by a decision that my parents made for me; or will this stage in life pass and leave me giggling about my confused youth? I’m only 21 and I understand that life is much bigger than 21 years of wondering and wandering and that, personally and vicariously, I will continue to absorb, understand, and find my place.