As I reflect on my childhood, I wonder how different it was compared to those of most Americans outside the vibrant Cuban community in Miami during the 1970s and ’80s. While I later learned about the cultural icons like Fleetwood Mac and Carly Simon, my husband, Jake, grew up immersed in that music scene. My memories are filled with the laughter of legendary Cuban comedian Álvarez Guedes and the lively sounds of salsa music filling our home.
Today, my kids are growing up in a charming two-story colonial house, comfortably nestled among neighbors in the suburbs of the Mid-Atlantic. This stands in stark contrast to my own upbringing in close-knit urban neighborhoods where homes were lined closely together. Urban sprawl and the looming threat of hurricanes shaped my childhood environment, making for a very different backdrop.
As my sons engage in after-school activities like soccer and swimming in our deer-infested suburban setting, I often ponder how much of my cultural heritage they will grasp. Will they understand where I come from? Will they carry forward the traditions that have shaped my life? How will they perceive their own cultural DNA?
To start, I must admit a significant shortcoming: My children do not speak a word of Spanish. One might say it’s an easy excuse, given that they were not raised in a Spanish-speaking household or community. My own upbringing was bilingual, a necessity for daily communication. Jake, who speaks no Spanish, often relied on me to translate during our early dating days in Miami, especially at authentic Latin restaurants—though he has impressively picked up various culinary terms over time.
Most immigrants from earlier generations carried pieces of their Old World culture into their new lives, establishing businesses and community spaces that catered to their longing for home. I picture Jake’s Jewish ancestors, reminiscent of characters from Fiddler on the Roof, making their way from Eastern Europe to the bustling ports of England before embarking on the arduous journey to Ellis Island. With just a few belongings and minimal English, they navigated the harsh realities of life in New York City’s tenements, their names often Anglicized to fit in.
Despite the sacrifices made by his ancestors, Jake feels disconnected from their struggles; this reality is puzzling to me. My family’s journey to America feels much more immediate. Like many of my peers in Miami, I was among the first in my family to engage fully with American society and its educational opportunities. The Cuban community that settled in Florida during that time maintained their rich traditions, creating vibrant networks in an area far less populated and diverse than the waves of migrants to New York City.
Certainly, the immigrants of the past faced daily reminders of their cultural heritage. I grew up surrounded by my own in the predominantly Hispanic neighborhoods of Miami, affectionately called the “sawesera.” Our holiday celebrations were a far cry from the traditional American Christmas ham dinner. Instead, we welcomed the holiday with loud Latin music and coquito flowing freely. The entire roasted pig, displayed in its Caja China, was the centerpiece, the enticing aroma of garlic and sour oranges wafting through the air as we eagerly awaited the feast.
Even though higher education was a priority, many of us remained close to home, often attending local colleges. This proximity allowed us to remain under our parents’ watchful eyes, with home-cooked meals and laundry services continuing well into our college years. It was rare for parents of my generation to let their children venture far from home, where independence was a distant concept.
I may be romanticizing my upbringing, having left my parents’ home over 14 years ago, yet I recognize the unique experience of growing up amid shifting cultures and languages. My generation found itself caught between the traditions our parents carried over and the new world we were eager to embrace. This often led to a sense of isolation as we navigated this dual identity, seeking comfort in friendships and family.
For my children, the connection to their cultural DNA will develop through their unique experiences. With a Cuban-American mother and a Jewish-American father, they will inherit a rich tapestry of traditions, ensuring they have the foundation to thrive in their future.
In summary, the exploration of cultural heritage is essential in shaping our children’s identities. While my sons may not fully grasp their roots today, the experiences and traditions we share will undoubtedly influence their understanding and appreciation of their cultural DNA in the years to come.
For those interested in understanding more about the journey of cultural heritage, this article provides insights into the complexities of identity and belonging. You can also learn more about home insemination and related topics by visiting this resource.