digsite

I read a post recently on Cuban-American Pundits about being a child of cuban exiles and it got me thinking.

Unlike that blogger, however, I’m not a republican and I didn’t adopt a lot of the my parents’ and grandparents’ customs or ideals. But his post made me stop and think about what being a child of cuban exiles meant for me.

I’ve discovered that I feel more confusion over being a child of exiles than I ever felt over being a mix of white and black. And trust me, hispanics can be as prejudiced against blacks as american can be. What’s that word my grandmother and aunts use when a mulato or black person has a baby of lighter skin color than themselves? Oh yes, “progress”. What’s even sadder is that they seem completely oblivious to how bad this sounds. I’ve always felt grounded with the white/black bit however. Except for when I was growing up with a stepmother who had a knack for making me feel subhuman, I never felt like I ever wanted to be “more white”. “more white” always felt like it would be “more boring” to me.

Regardless, it’s the Cuban vs. American that creates confusion for me. Sure, I’m American because I was born here but I’m referring to american americans. Make sense? Not native americans but the folks who’s ancestors have been in the US for generations, who don’t speak any language but english or the people hispanics call “gringos”. There must be a proper name for what I’m saying.. I just don’t know what it is.

But anyway, I never could identify completely with being hispanic or of cuban descent. It’s not where I grew up. Spanish isn’t my preferred language so I thought I probably could identify more with the other side. But I was set straight the first time I visited with Dennis’ family back in 2001. I felt culture shock beyond anything I’d ever imagined. They were so incredibly polite, so soft spoken, so orderly and they ate small portions! With the TV turned off! and soft music playing in the background! wow! and we had wine! Not cuban coffee, not materva, not malta, but wine! It was pleasant but unnerving at the same time. I wasn’t even sure how I should behave or what to say. I was afraid that if I was myself, I’d come across too strong or crass. The more I kept my mouth shut tho, the more worried I was that I’d seem antisocial or uninterested in getting to know them. It took about another three visits with his mother’s before I became used to their ways.

Back to politics, tho, during the Bush/Clinton elections my grandfather told me to vote for Bush. I asked why and he said “because he’s a republican”. I thought it was silly to vote for a man “just because he’s a republican” but to avoid conflict I didn’t say anything.. I shrugged, probably making him think I’d do as I was told but I left the house and voted to Clinton anyway. I knew better than to give my vote to some shmuck. lol!

Some other things my grandmother tried to drill into me were that a wife’s job was to obey her husband. Not listen to, not agree with, but obey. A wife’s job was also to do the dishes, the laundry, clean the house, do the grocery shopping, change the diapers, bath the kids, while a man’s job was to hold a 9 to 5, then come home and eat, drink, and sleep, that’s it. A young girl was also supposed to think about her wedding day, becoming a mother some day, help do the household chores, not have male friends - ever, and save her precious virginity for her future husband because - didn’t you know? - a woman’s virginity was more important to a man than her intellect or personality.

Whenever she’d see a woman dancer on tv she’d says “Ay, por dios! Endevez de aprender a cozer o tejer, estan ensenando todo que le dio dios. Esas son qualquieras.” (translation: “omg, instead of learning how to sew or knit, they’re up there showing everything god gave them. Those women are nothing but trash.”) Uh yah.. sure, gramma.

I could have been convinced to think that way but some voice in my mind prevailed. I have too big a sense of self to be dummied up by such backward thinking. After moving out and becoming independent I changed dramatically. Never again to entertain that such ideals would become my reality. Still despite all the differences there are between me and my grand/parents, I have felt conflicted about my cultural ancestry since having my own kids. My husband is a “red neck” so they will learn how “Americans do it”. But how will they learn about Cuba, the people, my ancestors are all about? From me? I don’t know shit about that. I don’t live it, i can’t teach it. The only thing I could do is teach them spanish.

This is the one area where I fear I may fail, though. I could use my family living close by to speak spanish around them, have parties with loud spanish music, roast pigs in a pit in the backyard and then once liquored up, listen to them rant on and on about Castro, El Che, Jose Marti or talk about musicians like Benny More and about “how things used to be”.

American americans (which is what I think I’ll refer to my husband’s family) don’t do that kind of stuff. Well maybe they roast a pig here and there but it’s never anything like a party thrown by a group of cubans.

Before I had kids this stuff was never something I needed to think about, but now that I have them, I’m faced with the fact that I may not be able to pass on to them what was passed on to me. The only thing I have that is gold and I could pass on is the language and so far I haven’t done much to teach it.