Parenting Perspectives on Cultural Heritage
Updated: Oct. 19, 2015
Originally Published: Oct. 19, 2015
On the day I visited the local Secretary of State’s office to renew my driver’s license, the waiting room was bustling with people. After grabbing a number, I settled into the first available seat. The atmosphere was charged with impatience; a couple seated a few rows ahead of me was particularly vocal about their frustrations. Their loud complaints about the “lazy” and “incompetent” staff behind the counter were grating. I attempted to immerse myself in a book, but eventually, I glanced at them. The man leaned over, angrily whispering to a woman in a wheelchair, likely his wife.
Suddenly, they reminded me of my own parents—not because of the complaints, but due to their familiar postures. My father often leaned in close, speaking softly to my mother during her time in a wheelchair, which had been a challenging part of her life.
I felt a surge of empathy for the couple. I had no pressing obligations; my husband was at home with our young children, and this brief moment of solitude felt like a mini-vacation. So, I approached the couple and offered them my spot in line. They didn’t express any gratitude; the man simply snatched my ticket from my hand and dismissively threw his own at me. I shrugged off their rudeness and returned to my book, only to overhear their next comments.
“How many of them do you think are foreign?” the woman mused.
The man glanced towards the staff behind the counter. “Two.”
“Not her,” she retorted, pointing at one of the women. “She’s just black.”
I felt my heart race when they continued their derogatory remarks, criticizing a staff member for not speaking English well. The man’s disdainful comments about hiring “lazy foreigners” echoed painfully in my ears. A woman across the aisle met my gaze, both of us shocked at the couple’s ignorance. As thoughts of my own immigrant parents flooded my mind, I couldn’t hold back my anger.
No more.
I envisioned my father’s early struggles as a newcomer in a foreign land—days filled with hunger and uncertainty, working multiple jobs just to support his education. He eventually earned three degrees and became a valuable university career counselor. My mother, too, faced her own challenges, leaving India to join my father, only to be met with hostility upon her arrival. She raised two children while juggling work and school, ultimately becoming a clinical psychologist who made a difference in the lives of many.
I thought of our cramped home in a modest neighborhood, where my mother stitched clothes for us instead of buying brand names, and how we saved tirelessly to move to a better school district. I remembered the countless summer days I spent studying while my friends played, all because my father insisted that education was my ticket to a brighter future. I graduated with a degree in chemical engineering, followed by a master’s in mechanical engineering and an MBA, while my sister pursued a similar path.
The sacrifices my parents made ignited a fire within me. I stood up and approached the couple, trembling with indignation. The man paused his complaints, and I locked eyes with him. Instead of screaming, I simply said, “I’m the daughter of immigrants, and I just tried to help you.” I snatched the ticket back from him and added, “Maybe this will remind you the next time you want to spout off about foreigners.”
Turning back, I returned to my seat, and a heavy silence fell over the couple. When my number was finally called, the cheerful woman behind the counter thanked me and waived my fee, saying it was her treat.
For more insights on navigating cultural experiences and parenting, consider checking out our other blog post, Home Insemination Kit. It’s also worth exploring Make a Mom for authoritative resources on boosting fertility, and Kindbody for expert advice on pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary:
This piece reflects on the experiences of being the child of immigrants, highlighting personal anecdotes that illustrate the struggles and sacrifices made by immigrant parents. It also addresses the ignorance and racism sometimes encountered in society, revealing the strength and resilience that comes from understanding one’s cultural heritage.