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May. 2nd, 2019 01:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
glitch25One of the things I think I've always struggled with is growing up knowing I'm Latino but having very little cultural influence including the fact that Spanish wasn't encouraged to be spoken at home. Deliberately.
My parents didn't want us to be burdened by the stigma of speaking Spanish as a primary language. But instead, they missed the stigma of being Latino in a world of other Latinx having an accent but no solid command of the language.
For most of my life, I never introduced myself pronouncing my name correctly. Most of the time, lots of people wouldn't pronounce it the way I'd want them to, and struggling with that never seemed to be worth the effort. Worse, if I gave my name with the proper pronunciation, someone might assume I could speak Spanish and start a conversation with me that I'd have to try to bow out of without embarrassing myself. Neither were ideal. Further, I became prejudicial to the extent that I would only offer my name to people I assumed could pronounce it correctly. If the person fell on the other side of that perceived line, I didn't even bother. Which is a horrible way to be on lots of levels. So mostly I just didn't offer it pronounced correctly. Ever.
Two things recently have started changing my mind about that.
First, a few years ago, I stumbled on a documentary about this Tejano band in Texas made up of young people who grew up in similar circumstance, having never really been in deep touch with their own culture. They didn't speak Spanish. But they had accents. They came together as musicians deciding to learn about their cultural heritage through the Tejano music. So they began learning the songs and learning the language. And they became an amazing band able to hold their own in the scene. I wish I remembered the name of the documentary, but it was great.
Second, people still read the name on my badge or anywhere they might find it and assume I know how better to speak Spanish than I actually do. I've learned enough Spanish over the years to either make do, or at least get the point across that English is going to work better. But I've also noticed that as I give in, and give my name with the proper accent, and continue the conversation in English, most people seem to respect and understand that. That is something I hadn't expected to have happen. And it's nice. Both to hear my name but know I don't have to burn spoons trying to negotiate that situation.
It reminds me that in my quest for knowledge and self improvement, Spanish needs to go on the list. It isn't my favorite idea, but I think I owe it to a part of me that still feels lost in this world.
As a side note, if you know my name without an accent, don't change it. One day, that may change. But today I'm good.
My parents didn't want us to be burdened by the stigma of speaking Spanish as a primary language. But instead, they missed the stigma of being Latino in a world of other Latinx having an accent but no solid command of the language.
For most of my life, I never introduced myself pronouncing my name correctly. Most of the time, lots of people wouldn't pronounce it the way I'd want them to, and struggling with that never seemed to be worth the effort. Worse, if I gave my name with the proper pronunciation, someone might assume I could speak Spanish and start a conversation with me that I'd have to try to bow out of without embarrassing myself. Neither were ideal. Further, I became prejudicial to the extent that I would only offer my name to people I assumed could pronounce it correctly. If the person fell on the other side of that perceived line, I didn't even bother. Which is a horrible way to be on lots of levels. So mostly I just didn't offer it pronounced correctly. Ever.
Two things recently have started changing my mind about that.
First, a few years ago, I stumbled on a documentary about this Tejano band in Texas made up of young people who grew up in similar circumstance, having never really been in deep touch with their own culture. They didn't speak Spanish. But they had accents. They came together as musicians deciding to learn about their cultural heritage through the Tejano music. So they began learning the songs and learning the language. And they became an amazing band able to hold their own in the scene. I wish I remembered the name of the documentary, but it was great.
Second, people still read the name on my badge or anywhere they might find it and assume I know how better to speak Spanish than I actually do. I've learned enough Spanish over the years to either make do, or at least get the point across that English is going to work better. But I've also noticed that as I give in, and give my name with the proper accent, and continue the conversation in English, most people seem to respect and understand that. That is something I hadn't expected to have happen. And it's nice. Both to hear my name but know I don't have to burn spoons trying to negotiate that situation.
It reminds me that in my quest for knowledge and self improvement, Spanish needs to go on the list. It isn't my favorite idea, but I think I owe it to a part of me that still feels lost in this world.
As a side note, if you know my name without an accent, don't change it. One day, that may change. But today I'm good.