Feeling Kind of Silly

I remember when I first started to make good on my resolution to raise my daughter bi-lingual, I felt more than just a little ridiculous. I wasn’t cooing or counting piddies, like other new moms in our Gymboree class. I was finding myself basically narrating her life to her in Spanish. I didn’t know what else to say. I mean, it was me and her alone in the house and I was completely unaware of how to have a one way conversation, in Spanish. My Spanish was usually used for hearty conversations about family bochinche and animated exchanges with others whose opinions were as strong as mine. But now I had to talk AT this little human whose blank looks gave me nothing to work with.

Through my sheer exuberance of my love for her, my daily greetings went as such : “Mama! Mama la bella, mama la linda, mama la dulce!” That’s how she got the name Mamala. And the rest of the day was me just going on and on. “¿Que hacemos hoy? ¡Yo no sé si va llover, pero no importa, que de todas maneras vamos a divertirnos!” Blah, blah blah, blah, blah, was all she heard. And after all that conversation, after two years and more, all she would say was “ma ma ma.” But I kept going, seemingly boring her with the details of her life, in español. My poor husband would sit there, completely lost in the noise of my voice, as he waited for me to translate so that he too could participate in the conversation.

Then it happened one day; as I was looking for a particular plate in a cupboard, I heard a little voice behind me say “¿Que buscas Mami?” It was sudden, it was out of nowhere and it was flawless! And suddenly I stopped feeling silly and started feeling awesome.

When did you hear your child first speak? Which language was it? What strategies do you use to raise your child as bilingual?

A Fourth Grade Mofongo Lunch

I had a bit of pride as I packed my daughter’s lunch yesterday morning. She was positively salivating at the mere thought of what her lunch would be later that day. We had ordered some take food from a marvelous restaurant in Jersey City, called Delicias De Puerto Rico, after mass on Sunday. We ordered plátanos rellenos, alcapurrias de yuca, ensalada de bacalao and of course mofongo con pernil.

The smells of the restaurant are heavenly and bring me back to my grandmother’s kitchen so many decades ago. Their asopao de pollo tastes as if my own Abuela had made it herself. It is the pure perfection that quiets the soul and soothes the body all at once. It is that which makes you ache for a time gone by, while filling you with that bitter momentary joy of having relived it all too briefly.

Food is one of the defining factors of any culture; cultures a large as societies and as small as families. I believe it is because the way each culture has transformed mere sustenance into the flavors, aromas and experiences they have in their foods, carry the stories of the people and the traditions. Those most cherished traditions bring us the most sense of pride when we pass them down to our children. When we do our part to create a future for the history that helped define us and guide us, we too become immortalized.

So my daughter brought her garlicky mofongo to school. And while some showed interest or curiosity, and others turned their noses up at the strange food, she gleefully dived in to her lunch enjoying every bite, unwittingly bringing forth the essence of our ancestors and their traditions into yet another generation. You can see why I was filled with pride.

Do you have food traditions that you've passed on to your children? Do your children resist or readily accept the foods of your traditions?

A Bit About Me

My name is Melissa. I am second generation Puerto Rican and first generation Ecuadorian. Essentially this means I was raised by a father from the old country and mother raised by a single mom from the old country. There was a mix of cultures, Puerto Rican and Ecuadorian being so different with just a base of sameness. And a dilution of cultures as well, as time went on and time drew us further from our roots. Being the oldest I had the most exposure to my roots, and even had the exceptional experience of spending two elementary school years in a bi-lingual school. Living the longest with my Puerto Rican grandmother in our home, I resist the most a complete divorce from what made her real and spectacular to me.

I have four children and I try to raise them as if my Abuela were still here. In the forty plus years she lived in Brooklyn, she never learned more than she absolutely needed. She’d go into any neighborhood store, make her selections, place them up on the counter and ask “How mush?” Every clerk knew what she meant and she got along just fine. Otherwise, at home, it was all Spanish all the time. And as she got older and her arthritis got worse, she would have me write the letters she would dictate to send to her sisters back home in PR. And as soon as I could, I was reading things to her also when her tired eyes needed the help. And so, my kids now speak, read and write in Spanish. And most importantly, they learn our religion in Spanish so that they could recite El Padre Nuestro as my Abuela would have taught it to them.

I’d love to know: what is your impetus for raising your children bilingual? Do you have any family members who have never, or could never learn English? Do your children communicate with them well?