An American-Mexican

I have come to consider myself an American-Mexican. That’s not a typo. I am intentionally calling myself an American-Mexican instead of a Mexican-American. In the world of hyphenated identities, the first adjective refers to the ethnicity or race a person is born into or most identifies with. The second adjective refers to the new nationality or ethnicity being assumed.

I put the American first because it is my nationality, my birthplace, and my heritage. I spent the first twenty years of my life knowing very little of the world beyond our borders. Sure, I was well read, in college, and aware of current events, but I didn’t really pay attention to the every day lives of those not fortunate enough to have been born in the United States.

When I changed my major from creative writing to Spanish, it was because I wanted to be able to talk to the Latinos moving into East Tennessee. I wanted to enable communication between my fellow Americans and the Latino immigrants moving here. When I realized that real people could understand my Spanish, I didn’t really mind conjugating verbs.

Many people assume I met my husband and then learned Spanish. I was in my last semester of college when I met my husband. I was teaching an English as a Second Language class at my church and his two younger brothers were in my class. (He was in the advanced class.) We dated for a couple years while I worked as a court interpreter and began teaching high school Spanish.

Over the last five years, I have had many experiences that make me feel the need to add the Mexican part at the end of my identity label. I’ve learned how to cook Mexican food from a lady from Michoacán (and it’s hard to get much more Mexican than Michoacán). I am very comfortable with Mexican slang and tend to speak with a Mexico City dialect. I absolutely love Mexican telenovelas (soap operas). I’ve got an iPod full of real Mexican music. As evidenced by my blog at the Knoxville News Sentinel, I can more articulately support comprehensive immigration reform than most Latinos.

So I think I’ll add the subtitle to this blog and let you know a little bit more about a bicultural existence in the hills of East Tennessee.

Another One Bites the Dust

First Beto Gonzales, now Bill Richardson

North Carolina Follows Tennessee's Lead

North Carolina Follows Tennessee's Lead

In Defense of Twilight

I enjoyed this defense of the Twilight series. I've read a lot of critics who relegate these books to the teeny bopper pile and berate Stephenie Meyer for daring to write books that promote abstinence and other anti-feminist values. I'm tired of the only acceptable books being those that buy into the Sex and the City lifestyle.

Sarah Palin a Good Neighbor?

Sarah Palin Wanted for Neighbor

New Year's Eve 2008: Mexican Style

I embrace authentic Mexican celebrations. There are only a few times a year that we celebrate "the way they do back home." Authentic celebrations, the way they do them back home, usually involve a whole lot of work. Homemade tamales and carne asada are okay for certain celebrations, but the big celebrations involve killing an animal. If the men don't get to kill it themselves, it really isn't "the way they do it back home."

We haven't done Christmas Mexican style since 2006, the Christmas that inspired my short story. This year I stuck to a lamb from the grocery store for Christmas, but the brothers-in-law wanted to do an authentic New Year's Eve celebration.

Thankfully, I wasn't as involved in the New Year's mole as I was in the 2006 Christmas lamb. Mole is a special salsa made from several chiles, spices, and chocolate, among other things. (To my gringa eyes, they use everything but the kitchen sink.) This salsa is then used to smother chicken or turkey (hence the animals that were slaughtered).

Over the last few years, I have gotten tougher than I used to be. I didn't flinch when my brother-in-law slit that lamb's throat. I didn't run and squeal when my brother-in-law chased me around the kitchen with the skinned lamb's head. I surpressed my gag reflex when Tiger threw up on me in the car as I drove him home from the vet's office after his "surgery." I didn't flinch as the guys killed the chickens and the turkey for New Year's Eve.

But I after watching the senora wallow the dead animal carcasses all over the kitchen sink, I decided that was one traditional dish I would not be partaking of.

Economy and Immigration

Economy's Effects on Immigration