Beans and Rice and Jesus Christ
As a young child searching for identity, I peered through the cracks of the fence into the neighbor's yard...as if I would find it there. I saw a little girl with olive complexion and braids done up with pieces of yarn. She looked straight at me and told me two of the only words she could say in English: one had four letters, the other word was "you". The little girl was Mexican. But I was too. Or at least my Grampa Carlos was. I was just me. What did it mean to be Mexican anyways?
I was raised in, what I call, the nicest house in the barrio. The neighbor kids would come over all the time to play in our backyard, with our toys. Sometimes they would steal them. One time, someone stole our kitten. We got him back, but come on! Who steals kittens?
As I got older, I realized how the Mexican culture has shaped my own, and I began to appreciate my heritage. I've since reconciled the differences I had with my neighbors, but I don't know if they have ever reconciled their differences with me. My brother, sister, and I would always be the indulged, slightly naive, rich kids who went to their fancy private school and who couldn't speak a lick of Spanish.
I am Mexicana and caucasian; both, yet neither. My non-latino friends identify me as latina. To some of my Mexican friends, however, my siblings and I were...something else. We had enough characteristics to relate to many, but enough to make us "kinda wierd" regardless of our company. For example:
My father taught Kindergarten and my mom stayed at home with us. They did not wake up at the break of dawn to pick strawberries. We primarily spoke English, though my parents are both bilingual. We went to an expensive school that our neighbors couldn't afford, my dad played folk songs for us on his banjo, I wanted to wear "skater shoes"...etc.
However, I do look Mexican. My mom does professionally dance baile folklorico. I do eat rice and beans and tortillas for dinner. I do answer to "mija". I did recieve my First Holy Communion in a very lacy dress, and I do put Tapatio on everything.
My siblings and I had a very rich childhood, in spite of the minor identity issues. We were often most content in hanging out with each other...or with our friends Marisa and Nicky who were also "half-breeds". I couldn't be happier to be Mexican, Polish, Indian (Eastern and Apache), Scottish, Welsh, and English. God is so creative. Since we are all made in His image, all people groups reflect Him in their own way. We have a lot to teach each other about God's character.
Which brings me to my conclusion: ultimately, my identity should not be in whether I am Mexican, white, female, rich, poor, what music I listen to, whether or not I eat meat, whether or not I voted for Bush, whether or not I am a good teacher, whether or not I am so pretty...etc. Rather, I am fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of God (Gen 1:27). I belong to Him and He loves me. Do I really understand who God is, and what this means concerning my identity? If so, I would not care that some kid once made fun of me trying to pronounce the word, "pajaro." The real question, is "How do I reflect Christ?" I need to daily remind myself towards what image I should really be striving.
I was raised in, what I call, the nicest house in the barrio. The neighbor kids would come over all the time to play in our backyard, with our toys. Sometimes they would steal them. One time, someone stole our kitten. We got him back, but come on! Who steals kittens?
As I got older, I realized how the Mexican culture has shaped my own, and I began to appreciate my heritage. I've since reconciled the differences I had with my neighbors, but I don't know if they have ever reconciled their differences with me. My brother, sister, and I would always be the indulged, slightly naive, rich kids who went to their fancy private school and who couldn't speak a lick of Spanish.
I am Mexicana and caucasian; both, yet neither. My non-latino friends identify me as latina. To some of my Mexican friends, however, my siblings and I were...something else. We had enough characteristics to relate to many, but enough to make us "kinda wierd" regardless of our company. For example:
My father taught Kindergarten and my mom stayed at home with us. They did not wake up at the break of dawn to pick strawberries. We primarily spoke English, though my parents are both bilingual. We went to an expensive school that our neighbors couldn't afford, my dad played folk songs for us on his banjo, I wanted to wear "skater shoes"...etc.
However, I do look Mexican. My mom does professionally dance baile folklorico. I do eat rice and beans and tortillas for dinner. I do answer to "mija". I did recieve my First Holy Communion in a very lacy dress, and I do put Tapatio on everything.
My siblings and I had a very rich childhood, in spite of the minor identity issues. We were often most content in hanging out with each other...or with our friends Marisa and Nicky who were also "half-breeds". I couldn't be happier to be Mexican, Polish, Indian (Eastern and Apache), Scottish, Welsh, and English. God is so creative. Since we are all made in His image, all people groups reflect Him in their own way. We have a lot to teach each other about God's character.
Which brings me to my conclusion: ultimately, my identity should not be in whether I am Mexican, white, female, rich, poor, what music I listen to, whether or not I eat meat, whether or not I voted for Bush, whether or not I am a good teacher, whether or not I am so pretty...etc. Rather, I am fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of God (Gen 1:27). I belong to Him and He loves me. Do I really understand who God is, and what this means concerning my identity? If so, I would not care that some kid once made fun of me trying to pronounce the word, "pajaro." The real question, is "How do I reflect Christ?" I need to daily remind myself towards what image I should really be striving.
posted by Celeste at 9:24 AM
5 comments
