The Language Thing Again...

I have to take a Spanish class. It's getting really out of hand now. I am taking a lot of it in and even repeating most of what I hear, but how are my kids going to know Spanish if I can't even get the basics across to them. I just read an article about new study findings that say infants start to lose their natural ability to be bilingual by as early as 12 months. And that much of this ability (to learn multiple languages easily) detereorates after age seven and even more after puberty. Now if that isn't motivation to learn I don't know what is. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not pregnant or anything, though every time I go to the doctor everyone assumes that I am. I just want to be able to - in an educated way - teach my kids two languages. It's something I think everyone should do whether or not it's 'necessary'. Check out this study...you'll be with me on this I swear - http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5j5-F8j-yYdLNUrlLhObAy0vbd4SgD99IBQS00.

And kids are great...you can make them hate the things that you hate. Don't like Spanish, teach 'em French. Can't stand Frenchies, then how about German. There are so many languages out there. Just pick one and go crazy. And don't forget the swears. You think kids unknowingly cursing in English is cute, try Japanese. It's hilarious.

And hey Obama says we should do it. Disagree with me now.

A cause, FINALLY!

So it's been a while since my last post. That's a lazy go-getter for ya. But really, I've been traveling a lot. It was on these travels that a Navy recruiter struck up a conversation with me. After realizing that I was spoken for the conversation diverted from "tell me about yourself" to "tell me about everything else" and we got to talking about the future of Black children in America. Without realizing the words that were coming out of my mouth I began raving about how teaching African-American history in schools alongside the history taught currently would do great things for Black youth. I got on my soapbox about how it would show Black youth that as a race we are capable of more than hitting a golf ball, shooting a basket, or performing on a stage; even as important as some of those things may be/have been for our culture.

African-American history would give Black youth something to strive for, show them that this didn't start with Obama, but in fact it started a long time ago so that Obama could be where he is today. Moreover, learning about the amazing things that Black people have dedicated themselves to and achieved would show our children that they have bigger shoes to fill. Bigger than fighting over drug turf or using violence to prove to someone that you're to be respected, bigger than all the nonsense that is leading our children down the wrong paths.

Just then it occurred to me, this is something that I really feel strongly about. Not only that but it's something I actually know how to act on. It's the school system! I can write my State Rep, I can lobby in Springfield, I can use connections Rick's sisters have (almost all work in the school system) to spread the word to people that can help. In other words, I can do this. I can bring African-American culture - which I sometimes feel entirely without - to the people that need it most: the Black youth of America. Have I finally found a focused purpose? Have I finally found a cause? Do I finally feel like I have a culture to uphold? Will you come with me?

So what did Rick say to me when I brought this up to him? "What about Hispanics? You guys get a whole month!" What about Hispanics?!?! Hello, Rick, I'm Black and I'm one person. I can only take up so many causes. And yes he was deadpan serious about the "whole month" thing. Wow, we really have a road to travel together now don't we.

Anything you can do...I can do

You know how when you're trying to prove a point and you end up getting yourself into something you can't handle, but you're so committed to getting the point across that none of that matters anymore? I have this thing about family. As you know ever since Rick and I got together I've been in awe of the tightness of his family. Considering that it's pretty much tradition in my family that once you move out of the house, you move out of the state and are rarely heard from again; I seriously envy the fact that all of Rick's family lives within about a 7 mile radius of each other and they gather at the drop of a hat. Same for all of his friends, only even closer, with several generations living on the same block or - even better - in the same 3-flat. I want to cry real tears (of joy) when my parents are able to make it in for Thanksgiving. How sad is that? It didn't use to be like that. We were all very close before my Grandfather passed away. Back then my parents still lived here and times were much richer - both figuratively and literally - so it was easy for people to fly in or to fly people in for holidays. With money tight our family ties have loosened. It shouldn't be that way. It should be the very opposite.

A Hispanic family of 6 could be living in a one-bedroom apartment and they would still gladly welcome a long-lost Aunt from Mexico with her three kids to move in for an indefinite amount of time. It would be nothing to them. To my family, we could be broke, damn near on the streets, and no one would come home. We would just keep struggling. I want that to change.

My niece is having trouble in school...well in general. I've tried to be there for her long-distance (she's about 400 miles away), but it's just not working. It's a loaded tale, but the simple fact is that she hasn't grown up in anywhere near the ideal environment for a child and now she's taken on the type of defensive, negative attitude that her environment demands. I want to show her a different life. I want to show her that this is not how things have to be. I want to bring her back to Chicago for the school year. She would have to live with me...and Rick in my 1 bed/1 bath condo. This isn't the Ritz...she'd be condemned to an air mattress for the time being. This would technically be punishment, so I'm not going to feel bad about that. But note, I said "the school year" this would require me taking custody of her to get her enrolled in classes. Obviously, this elicits strong pauses when I first run it by Rick, my mom, and friends. So I ask Rick, what would you do? Or better yet, would you do this? He has to admit that if he had to he would. It's in their blood. It's time my family valued real family values. Am I crazy? Is a 26-year-old taking guardianship of her 15-year-old niece completely insane?

The Anniversary and Love

Today is our 3-year anniversary. Which in and of itself is a shock to the dome because you realize that once you hit the anniversary you actually start the next year. So as of tomorrow Rick and I will be in the 4th year of our relationship. Ah-ha...bet you never thought of it that way did you? Well I did and now I do all the time. I was thinking yesterday that I was 23-years-old when Rick and I met. I was fresh and fancy free, just out of college and full of potential. And now I'm 26...not to say that I've lost any of that potential or that I've gone bad. It's just...it's just that it's been 3 YEARS! What is he waiting for???? Ooops did I say that out loud.

Anyway, I caught a glimpse of another interracial couple giving each other a kiss good-bye this morning in the in the tunnel Jackson (woo woo Blue Line!). It wasn't their interracial status that caught my attention (of course), it was that he was a very attractive (albeit short) guy and she was a dumpy, badly-dressed (though I'm sure sweet as pie) girl. That got me to thinking about love. When you fall in love it doesn't matter what love looks like, or what love says, or does because whatever it is, well you love it. Then the years go by and love puts on a few pounds, starts dressing in hippie-esque mu-mus and dingy sweaters, love stops styling its hair all nice. And there's nothing you can do about it because it's love and it got you a long time ago. Love rolls over on you in the morning and sometimes you wish it would just move over a little bit. Love is waiting at home for you and you want to spend time with it, but you need to go to the gym or everyone is going out for drinks after work. Then Love makes you feel bad and selfish, and then when Love wants to go out part of you wants them not to, but that only reminds you again of how selfish you can be. Love has a way of doing those things. Love never felt that way when it first came along. It never dressed that way, or smelled that way, or cooked dinner that way. But at least it's still Love, right? Right!

It Becomes an Event

I find myself encouraging Rick to get involved in Hispanic events in and around Chicago. I've taken him to plays that I couldn't understand half of, but that reminded him of his childhood. I just like being there. I like knowing that I brought a part of him back to him even if I had no idea what was going on. I don't give myself enough credit though. I a good reader of people and things. Even if I don't understand the words coming out of the actors or musicians mouths I can decipher what they're trying to tell me and what I should be feeling. If I should be laughing, looking at them thoughtfully or with disgust.

This weekend there's an event that I'll put Rick on to. The Hola Mexico Film Festival (http://www.holamexicoff.com/). I hope he'll want to go because as much as I love it as a culture I can't imagine how I'd look going on my own. I can only hope that my light skin and jet black hair would convince some onlookers that I have some sort of Hispanic blood in me. I bank on that more than you'd think.

The Cultural Fascination

I am both terribly intrigued and infatuated with the hispanic culture. The language, the music, the art, the entire state-of-mind. Most of my friends would taunt that I've only become so entirely enveloped with these feelings since my heart was enveloped by Rick. But that's not true. After I saw Mi Vida Loca back in 8th grade I took on a wardrobe of dego tees, baggy pants, and anything with an Adidas logo on it. I became known for my dark lipstick, though thank God I didn't shave off and redraw my eyebrows. Sad Girl was scrawled across every notebook I owned in high school. And it seems that the hispanic cultured was just as attracted to me. I managed to make good friends out of all of the Hispanic women that I worked with at the car dealership where I worked throughout some of high school and most of college. Maybe it was because they were the closest thing to another black female in the building, but I connected with them. Years later they're still my friends. In college this obsession was slated if only for a bit. By senior year I had reconnected with a few of my Mexicanas from the dealership and had started frequenting Mexican clubs. That's where I met Rick so I guess it was all for the best.

Here I am still, if not more, disgustingly consumed with a culture that is not my own. The more I learn, the more I discover, the more I am entrenched. It is not entirely unhealthy though because I don't fantasize about being a Latina. To them, I am the different one and I like that. I just wish I was the different one that spoke their language *smirk* or cooked their food or better understood their family dynamics. So I bought a Mexican cookbook the other day. Nothing too intimidating, as it boasts only 100 of the recipes core to the Mexican food culture. I've also convinced my friend to take Spanish classes with me because I don't care how many vocab words she can recite she doesn't remember any more than I do from high school Spanish class. It's a good start. That is, if a 10-year in the making fixation can be considered a "start".

Where is my culture?

Sometimes I get so jealous because of the culture that Rick has. I'm starting to realize that we are so opposite in every way. Rick's ancestors hail from two different Mexican states, both of which he knows and has visited. I don't know where in Africa my ancestors hail from. And by the color of my family's skin it's too far back in any of our pasts to know it for sure. As an African-American my family, of course, came from the south. And I could go around cooking southern food and speaking in a southern dialect, but that's not really me or my family.


So I'm bound to all of my American-ized ways. I make a better spaghetti sauce than I do a cast iron skillet corn bread. I make salsa like I was born and raised on it, but it takes me an hour to prep a couple of yams. The only other language I know besides English are bits and pieces of the Spanish I was taught in high school. I go to the Mexican grocery regularly. I've bought and cooked fresh cactus before. But I consider the African convenience store by my house a foreign land. Do I need to get immunizations before I try to purchase anything? It's really sad. Do I just not have a real culture? I embrace everything about being African-American. I mean I love it. I get to say what I want about who I want and don't have to put with the slack. People want to give me jobs and small business loans because hey my people were slaves for 200 years right...


So is that my culture, slavery? I don't want to wear that on my back, I don't want to go to the store to purchase that. But that's where all this came from. Our food, our history, our names, our family, it's all we have. This is why I sometimes envy the culture that Rick has. I want a language, I want a homeland, I want native food, I want a family tree that doesn't start in the states.