Mexican Pride with an American Ride
Story by Jessica Valadez // art by Fernando Amaro Jr.

Yes, I am Mexican American, and yes I grew up in your typical old school Mexican family. You know, the kind that has the mother being the caretaker of the household, and catering to the father when he comes home from work. But no, I was not born in Mexico, I was born right here in San Jose, California.

My father's side of the family came down from Piedras Negras, Mexico (the black rocks) when my dad was a young child. He used his cousin's green card to come over to Salinas, Ca (in those days they didn't have photo ID's on them.) In my mom's case, she was born here also and her side of the family all lived in Texas. Growing up in this kind of household was great.

But the other day someone bought up the question to me if I was losing touch with my culture. Then someone asked me, “Do you know the struggle of your roots or the heritage of your people?” And that made me think, I actually don't know that much, but would love to know more.

I say I'm Mexican, but what does that truly mean? Does the name “Mexican” fully describe the pain and struggle my people went through and are still going through till this day? For me, to honestly say that I have not lost touch with my people is a lie. Yah I speak Spanish fluently but to me it's not a big thing. When some of my friends who are Mexican hear me speak Spanish they always say, “I wish I could speak Spanish.” But I take it differently.

I mean just cause you speak another language doesn't mean you know the story behind your people's past. When I was younger I didn't speak Spanish and I was always told that I wasn't Mexican because I don't speak the native tongue. When Cinco De Mayo comes along and everyone is out there waving a Mexican Flag it raises questions within me. They are so proud! They want to show the whole city their pride. But Cinco De Mayo was the day the Mexican Army beat the French at the Battle of Puebla. I bet if you ask people you see out there what that day means, they'll reply with a blank stare. To them it seems that all it is, is a day to say, “I'm Mexican, so what up! Let me get your number!” I can't say that I know my full historical background, but I can say that I am Mexican-American. I was born in America but I sure in the hell don't walk around with the American flag. The truth is I'm not proud of being American. I'm not proud of our president either.

When Hurrican Katrina hit, why did it take so long for us to help out our fellow Americans? They are normal taxpayers just like anyone else. Anytime I visit Mexico, I don't say where I'm from -- they'll probably tell me to go back home where I belong. But ever since that one question was asked to me about how well I knew the history of my people, I have been trying to get more in touch more with my heritage and my ancestors. They're in my blood, they're apart of me.

Also Read:
The New California Work Requirement -- Spanish
Story by David Madrid
September 12, 2005