Welcome to the club

After being back in California for three months, one thing is becoming apparent. The only thing that gives me more pleasure than speaking castellano in South America is speaking Spanish in the United States.

Life was incredibly frustrating before learning Spanish. People always assumed I spoke the language of my grandparents and some, upon discovering I did not or spoke very little, seemed disappointed or slightly judgmental. Where Asians, Caucasians, African-Americans, basically anyone who's not Latino, in this country are applauded for what little Spanish they may know, I always felt like I was trying to apologize or give excuses for my linguistic deficit.

Now the only explanation I have to provide is why I speak with a different accent than most other Spanish speakers where I live.

This revelation hit me by surprise at family birthday party last August. For the first time I could understand all the jokes that my dad's cousins, aunts, and uncles told. As my relatives' conversations slipped seamlessly between English and Spanish I was able to keep up with everything and contribute. It may sound like everyday life to most people who grow up speaking Spanish, but for me, it added new dimensions and understandings to my family and our culture.

My first job when I returned from Argentina was at a restaurant where I used to work at a few years ago. Everyone in the back of the house, the cooks, busboys, food preparers, are all Central American or Mexican. A lot of the faces were the same as the first time I worked there and they got a total kick out of my new communication skills. During our conversations I noticed that many of them would speak about certain, sometimes more personal topics only in Spanish. I got to know some the others, namely dishwashers and bussers, who couldn't speak very much English if any at all, on a deeper basis than just asking them to clean-off a table.

I quit that job for my current one as a bartender at a restaurant owned by a Salvadorean-Nicaraguan family. The parents/owners speak fluent English but you wouldn't realize that if you heard how they address most of the employees, most of whom are also Spanish speakers that were born in the U.S. When my friend hooked me up with the job and I spoke with La Mama, I knew I'd won her over addressing her with my formal, yet politely pleasant, Spanish. Said friend, who's in good with the whole family, later told me in reference to the mom, "She's temperamental but I can tell she likes you." I'm pretty sure I can attribute that to the fact that we speak the same language.

I think my proudest moment so far was a party last week when one of my childhood friends, Laura, who spent many of her formative years living in Mexico, was telling her mother-in-law about me and how impressed she was with my Spanish skills and the fact that I went from 0 to fluent in a matter of years. I love that even my friends are happy for me.

I remember a lecture during university in which one of my professors urged us to learn a second or third language and made a statement like, "Speaking only one language is like seeing the world through only one eye." Not only was I able to see other worlds, Chile and Argentina primarily, more clearly but now I see my own world in richer colors. I'm thankful for that everyday and am reminded every time I hear or speak the language I worked so hard to make mine.