My mom got me the shirt, I wore it when they visited two weeks ago. I have been a lot more reflective lately, on how I grew up, things that have shaped who I am, shaped who I am not, and the motivation to be and do certain things. As a mixed kid, kinda immigrant, but born American, kinda poor, but had enough, and since by and large most would say that I "turned out okay" I usually hide the struggles of the past like it didn't help shape me.
Bolivian Roots
During my time at La Casa de Amistad for sure I spent more time reflecting on where I was "from" when people ask most Latino's or immigrants about their background. Yeah I was born there, yeah it was my first language, yeah my license plate frame says Bolivian on it...
American Grown
I grew up most of my life not feeling Latino enough, or not fitting into the group that ethnically and socio-economically matched me best. I wanted to be American, but didn't really fit into that ideal, we were the kinda traditional low income immigrant family, dad made less cause of his language skills, mom struggled to work cause she was busy raising 4 crazy kids.
So where am I going with all this? I don't even know, usually my blogs start with an idea, a point I want to get across, something I want to prove (to myself or others), or just something to get off my chest. I am just here kinda writing cause its been a while and I should I guess.
In my old age, I feel like I am more honest with my parents, and I think they are most honest with me. On this trip my mom mentioned more about how hard of times we had as kids. My dad working multiple hard jobs (morning paper route, day time roofer) cause without English he could only do hard labor low paying jobs. My mom was running a home daycare cause with her health challenges and four kids it was hard to do anything else, but they had to make ends meet. If it had not been for my mom's parents, not sure how we would of made it.
I was never thankful enough. Not sure I was actually thankful for their sacrifice until I realized how hard parenting is... and I have it easy. During the trip, on one of our adventures, the kids both took their scooters. My mom commented on a memory, of when Andres and I both really wanted scooters... and our birthdays are close together, and so they got us one to share. We shared a room, most of our clothes and toys, and so it was just one more thing we shared. We didn't know any other way, not that we didn't like it, but I am sure we made it known to my parents that we each wanted one...
So as my kids both scooted around Notre Dame, my mom shared that memory. I thanked her for the scooter, and apologized if I wasn't grateful back then... today, both my kids have scooters, my oldest has a car, all things I can buy without flinching. Interestingly, I think my kids are probably as grateful (or ungrateful) for those things as I was for my shared scooter... not sure how I will teach them how hard their parents, work for them to have things. Maybe it doesn't matter right now that they get it.
American Grown. Bolivian Roots.
I grew up weird. The weird white kid in the ELL classes in 1st grade surrounded by brown faces that I am sure wondered why I was there... Then the poor immigrant kid in the honors AP classes in high school that didn't go on fancy spring break trips or fit in with the kids from the "good" neighborhood.
Today I am the token Latino who sits in important board rooms, and feels the weight of the pressure to represent his family, his culture (both of them), and still somehow fit in. I am in places because of my background, both of them, serving in both a traditional American role (white male leader), and the "other" often tokenized role at the same time. Often out of place, never without internal conflict, but expected to perform regardless.
Maybe it is why I am a good negotiator, a great middle man, my life was a constant compromise, a skill I learned through osmosis. A skill I am uberly thankful for, and thankful to my parents for, for their compromise on what they wanted in life, to ensure their kids got what they needed. Those sacrifices, or compromises, provided me with nearly limitless opportunity.
We had a great couple days, which get harder and harder as kids grow up, people move, and I am so glad we had the time together. It gave me chances to share with my kids about my roots and my challenges as a kid, and to enjoy their grandparents for more than just extra candy treats, legos building, brownie baking, football games and holiday cards... but for what they provided to me, which has made their lives better.
It could have been easier, but I wouldn't want it any other way. So to my Bolivian Roots ahead of Father's Day... gracias pop para todo, siempre fue todo que nesesitábamos, y mas. For my American Grown, as I look back... I am grateful for it all, it was perfect. Especially morning breakfasts after my paper route, I think about those mornings all the time. Thanks mom and dad.