Updated: Dec. 18, 2015
Originally Published: Oct. 28, 2014
So here I am, sitting in Spanish class every Wednesday night with my friend Mia, who’s serving as my cheerleader, despite the fact that Spanish was my first language from the moment I arrived in this world. Sure, the class is more about film and conversation than basic vocabulary, but hey, I’m trying! I can almost hear fluent speakers shaking their heads in dismay. It’s not just sheer laziness that led me here, though; those of us who grew up in culturally diverse families know that language skills can deteriorate for various reasons, including the prevailing attitudes of the time and our surroundings.
The Spirit of the Times
Back in the ’70s and ’80s, speaking anything other than English was so not trendy. And I’m not talking about a casual “not cool”; it was more like “you might get a beating” not cool. My dad always recounted how his immigrant father had been punished in kindergarten for speaking Spanish. Fast forward to today, and the Latino population has surged from about 9 million in the ’70s to nearly 60 million now, projected to double by 2060. When I was growing up, we were just a tiny slice of the American pie, following waves of Italian and Asian immigrants who were also pushing for assimilation. Now, though, even if most U.S.-born Hispanics lean toward English, there’s no doubt that speaking Spanish makes us just as American. In fact, in today’s global economy, embracing another language, especially the one you grew up with, is a pretty hot trend. “Gracias a Dios” for that!
The Impact of Location
My journey back to Spanish started to falter when we moved from our vibrant Hispanic neighborhood in upper Manhattan. My family was tightly knit there, and Spanish was part of daily life. Had we stayed, my brother and I would have been immersed in the language, even if our parents didn’t speak it much at home. Instead, we relocated to New Hampshire, where my four younger sisters were born. I joke that my family was the original multicultural influence in the state, but let me tell you, it didn’t feel funny back then. The most common question my brother and I got was “Do you speak Puerto Rican?” Gente! Seriously? Sure, New Hampshire has changed quite a bit since then, but there are still places in the U.S. where speaking Spanish can raise eyebrows, as my mom discovered when she tried to use it at a supermarket shortly after our move. (Xenophobia cleanup, aisle three!) To add insult to injury, I ended up in a French-Canadian Catholic school where they only taught French. At my first Spanish class last week, my languages collided in my brain, and I mistakenly said “gateau” instead of “pastel.” Zut alors!
I finally started to rebuild my language skills in my early 20s while living and working in Santiago, Chile, and Mexico City. When I returned to the States, I was so proud to chat with my mom in our native tongue. But after she passed away ten years ago, I realized that my distancing from Spanish wasn’t just about time or place; it was also about heartache.
Mothers aren’t just individuals; they represent entire cultures and histories. After losing her, I pushed my first language away because it brought back too many memories of us—like dancing in the kitchen to salsa or folding laundry while listening to Julio Iglesias. Now, as I strive to reclaim my language, I have practical reasons for doing so, but there’s also a deeper element of healing involved. My daughter is now taking Spanish in school, and she doesn’t mind when I blast my “Latin Vibes” playlist. Instead, we just dance.