On Foundations, and Bridges, and Connecting the Dots

OK, Sonya, you said to let you know when I figured out the social intricacies of what it means to be Mexican. And I have an answer.

I can't.

DUH! I mean, how thick am I, really?

As Oprah would say, "A-ha". (She would say it in the back of her solid gold Bentley, though. Me, I'm just sitting here in my office chair that I bought at Ikea for $1.99. I think the product name was Forfannen. My friend Dan has an Ikea bookcase that he will only refer to as "BILLY". Look, a butterfly! Am I wandering?)

ME: I am an unattached, working American mom of an internally and externally beautiful two-year old, attending school at night towards a degree in Public Administration (or Business, if I never actually make it back to my advisor's office again). I grew up in New York to two very loving parents. I was raised in the Northeast US by my Roman Catholic mom, an Italian-American daughter of a pharmacist from Queens, and my dad, the Jewish kid from the Lower East Side, whose parents were born in Hungary and the former Czechoslovakia.

My biological heritage is Mexican. I was fortunate enough to find my genetic family eight years ago, and I visit them as often as I can to connect and learn about my history. They have been incredibly open and welcoming, and I feel very fortunate as an adoptee to have the best of both worlds. Prior to finding my genetic family, I had great difficulty channelling my capabilities and choosing a life direction. I explored different walks of life through career changes, homes, social class skipping, and varying degrees of marital status, hoping to find the correct "fit". When my child was born, I suddenly realized that to be able to give her security and a strong foundation, I needed to figure out who I was, and where I was going.

I currently live in south Florida. My parents live nearby, and love to spend time with my daughter. She screams with joy when she spies their apartment building out the car's window, and even though they carry her around on a velvet pillow all day and ruin her, I know that she is getting all the love and attention that they gave me.

Apart from my DNA and my fiery temper, I may never truly feel Mexican. I can't make a tortilla, or dance to norteño music, or speak Nahuatl. Chicana doesn't feel right, either. I didn't grow up in a Mexican, Spanish-speaking household, and I think that is the most significant factor in my ethnic identification. On the other hand, I have this entire Mexican family that accepts me, for the most part, as one of their own. That will have to be it. My family is my bridge to the part of me that is Mexican. The life I build for myself, with hard work, integrity, love, appreciation, and the rock solid foundation my parents gave me, is who I am. This is what I give my daughter, and this is who we are.