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A path to relearning

By: Sophia Haro

I remember vaguely, I was sitting at the dining room table at my friend Stephanie’s house in 6th grade, we were working on a class project, filling our poster with glitter and bubble letters. Her mom comes into the kitchen and begins speaking to us in Spanish. Trying to reciprocate what she said in my head but the only word that came out was “What?” My cheeks reddened and I looked at Stephanie to make the situation less awkward. I felt so embarrassed not being able to understand her. Most of her family only spoke Spanish in the house, I felt ashamed of myself knowing that I should be able to understand them. Her mother responds “Mija you don't know Spanish?” I respond by telling her only very little. She says, “You’re going to need to be bilingual as a Hispanic woman if you want to get a successful job.” That’s when it hit me. I lost touch with my heritage and I didn’t even realize it.

Growing up my parents raised me and my two older sisters speaking Spanish and English. In our house, it was very common to have conversations in both languages. My grandparents immigrated to the U.S in their young adult years and raised my parents in the Chicago suburbs with a majority population of Hispanics. This environment affected how they viewed their children should be raised after viewing how it affected them as children. My parents had strong ties in their heritage and community which were Spanish speaking and they believed bilingualism should be passed down to the next generation. Being raised by young parents meant many hours being babysat by my grandparents who at the time knew only Spanish. My grandparents expected my sisters and I to speak only Spanish while in their house. Many times, we were scolded for talking to each other in English. This was my grandmother’s way of making sure we’d be bilingual. Other efforts my grandparents made was to enroll my sisters and I in Spanish-speaking classes for our Catholic religion courses, CCD in their Chicago neighborhood. My parents also agreed this was a good idea. I always dreaded going to Sunday school as a child because, besides the boring hour-long class, other kids in my class knew I was from the suburbs and called me whitewashed when I had to speak in Spanish. Each car ride to class my stomach would always tingle hoping the teacher wouldn’t call on me that day in class. My Spanish was just never good enough to fit in. Not in the classroom and not at home. I was constantly reminded by my grandparents to participate in class because they knew I was shy in that environment. By the end of the school year, I was close to finishing my CCD course and participating in my first communion. This was nothing I was particularly excited about or nervous for until my parents signed me up to be a speaker in front of 150 strangers. Not only was I upset about having to take on this responsibility but I was also anxious because I had to read an entire paragraph in Spanish. I remember the day of the ceremony. I was standing behind the podium and the teacher lowered the microphone to my height. My hands became clammy and I gripped the script I was reading tightly. As I began to read, the words flowed out me like a breath of air and my nerves began to go away. I finished the script with a big smile looking in the crowd at my family. The proud faces of my grandmother and parents will be something I’ll never forget. As nervous as I was, I completed the reading with a few stutters and soon after I felt a burst of confidence. Looking back at this memory I acknowledge my parents for believing in me and giving me confidence. If it wasn’t for my parents, I definitely would not have EVER signed up.

As I entered first grade, my first week of class went very smoothly. I had an amazing teacher and I had already made some new friends. Then the unexpected happened. I remember the day; I was excited to wear my new Velcro Converse to school. This was the only part of my outfit I had control over since we had school uniforms. I was in class talking to my new friends and a tall lady walked in the room and began searching the classroom. Obliviously, I turn back around and continue talking to my friends. The lady walks up to my desk, “Hi Sofia, come with me.” As you may imagine as an eight-year-old, a person you’ve never met before says your name is very nerve-wracking. My teacher motioned me to leave. We walked into a small room I’d never seen before and she pulled out flashcards and a clipboard. She began by introducing herself and told me we were going to do a test which would not be graded. My nervous feeling only grew from there. The test began with cartoon pictures of household objects and I was asked to state what they were. I thought in my head “This is the easiest test I’ve ever taken.” Soon after finishing the flashcards, I was told to repeat the same flashcards but this time I would name the pictures in Spanish. This would be the first time I was asked to speak Spanish at school. I was very confused but proceeded with the test. After identifying each picture on the flashcard, the teacher would write a note on her clipboard. She angled the clipboard so I would not see what was being written but I vaguely remember the words “English Second Language (ESL).” Soon after finishing the test, I walked back to my class and continued with my day. Days later, I was told I would be spending 3 hours a day reading and writing in a new classroom called Spanish ESL. I remember the confusion I had thinking “Why am I in this class? I'm not stupid I know English.” Although the ESL class felt like a setback to me in my education, I am very appreciative of the journey it took me on. Many years later I found out from my parents that I was put into that class because faculty members believed that I needed assistance in my English. At the time my mother believed it would be beneficial to me but looking back she said it was not needed for me and she believed I was put into that class mainly because I looked of Hispanic descent. As a child, I was oblivious to the racial motives the school system enforced on me. As I have aged and my education for my ethnicity and heritage has grown, I realized this was no mistake by my school. It was a form of removing part of my identity so I can fit in a box such as the other students who spoke English.

After taking the ESL class for two years I began to lose my ability to speak Spanish fluently. By middle school I could not hold a conversation with someone in Spanish. I blamed myself for being embarrassed to speak Spanish in public or with friends. I would often lie and say I could not understand someone when they spoke in Spanish to me because I did not want to embarrass myself by not knowing how to respond. I have heard the words “You’re in America we speak English” in my predominantly white middle school. Coincidentally, our middle school had one Spanish class offered only to students with a 4.0 grade point average. I was never able to achieve a 4.0 within my three years in middle school. I was always envious of my classmates who were chosen to be in Spanish class because they were being encouraged to speak Spanish while also being praised for it. This missed opportunity is something I reminisce about. Would I have stayed in touch with my roots if I would have tried harder in class?

Beginning my freshman year of high school was a much different environment for me. I attended a high school with a minority-based population and it was well diverse. This new environment led to making friends with a variety of different ethnicities. In particular, close friends of mine were two twin sisters who were Mexican and bilingual. Their family was very traditional, after being around them it reflected on me and motivated me to learn Spanish again. My interest in Spanish became a part of my schoolwork. In high school, we were required to take at least two years of foreign language study. I chose to take Spanish during my freshman year. I was eager to learn Spanish again after being given the opportunity. Once I began the class I was humbled greatly. The class consisted of reading, writing and speaking Spanish. I was not aware that there were many different forms to speak Spanish, I only knew of the Spanish spoken by my Mexican family. In my freshman Spanish class, they taught the form of Spanish spoken in Spain. I struggled in the beginning of the year because the language was very formal compared to what I was used to. After a difficult start in the class, over the school year, I began to recall how to read and speak. After completing my first year of Spanish I moved on to my second year where I had an amazing teacher who assisted me much more and encouraged me to continue learning. I became more confident after the course and I felt proud of myself for achieving a goal of mine I had for so long. After so many chances and opportunities to improve my Spanish over my childhood, having the requirement of taking a foreign language course pushed me to put effort in order to fulfill a desire I sought for so long.

As I have gotten older, I’ve realized not to be embarrassed of not being perfect at speaking Spanish. I’ve matured and now know being able to connect with my heritage is nothing to be embarrassed about. The beauty of a native language is so strong to a person in which it should be encouraged. Looking back at when my friend’s mother told me I needed to be bilingual as a Hispanic woman to have a successful career, she was right about that but being a Hispanic woman with ties to her culture is so much more than a job. Being bilingual and passing down the language to your children just as my ancestors have is something not everyone has the ability to do. I appreciate my family members and teachers for motivating me. After overcoming barriers and discrimination I have grown and am beginning to feel in touch with my heritage and who I am.