Tracy has always been pretty publicly open about my dislike of these kinds of things.

In the past our fights for and against events were basically like this:

Me: You’re being selfish for wanting to go off on your own.
Her: You’re being selfish for not letting me go off on my own.

I’m starting to accept that maybe we both have a point.

While I didn’t go to the actual Blogalicious conference, I had the opportunity to meet many of Tracy’s “bloguera” friends this past weekend. I could see within minutes that Tracy was part of a group of good people who care for her very much. I’ve never been a fan of male/female friendships, (it’s culturally hard-wired, sorry) – but I really came to admire and like some of Tracy’s friends. I was surprised by how much they know about me even though I know that Tracy blogs about me. Some have read this blog. Some congratulated me on going back to school. Others congratulated me on marrying Tracy, (ya sé que me gané la lotería con ella.) Some extended sympathy for the situation with my mother. Some asked me friendly and interesting questions.

It made me feel good but also it made me realize an area of my life that is missing something. My best friend is in El Salvador and I would consider other men I’ve met through work to be just acquaintances … Now that my mother isn’t part of my life and I have limited family I speak with, I’m understanding more the importance of friendship and having a community of people to understand, support and encourage you. It’s difficult to come to that conclusion since I’m not very social, (online or in real life), and not likely to seek it out.

While I was coming to understand Tracy’s need for these kind of events better, she somehow was also coming to understand things from my perspective. She told me that “finding balance” and “priorities” were major topics of conversation with her blogging friends. These topics are so hot that one of the conference sessions was about the same issue. We had long discussions about everything she had on her mind. Apparently it made her think a lot about these issues in our life together. I can already see some positive changes she’s made. She isn’t checking her phone as much, for one thing.

I don’t know what this means for us on this issue in the future. Maybe I will never like her going to events and maybe she will always love going, but I think balance and understanding are what we’re both working towards.

Image source: Digitalnative

Hace varios años yo estaba todavia en la escuela, mi escuela desidio hacer una excursión al Boquerón.

El Boquerón está como a 30 minutos de San Salvador. En aquel tiempo cuando yo fui con mi escuela la carretera no se encontraba en un buen estado, pero de todas maneras no impidio que fueramos a hace bonito paseo llegando sin ningun inconveniente.

Estando en ese lugar mis compañeros de escuela y yo nos sentamos a conversar de nuestras aventuras en la escuela. En determinado momento un amigo mio me pregunto ¿regresarias otra vez aqui?

Yo sin pensarlo le conteste sí. Pero cuando regrese sera con mis hijos y esposa así sera. Bueno alrededor de 15 años después regrese fue una experiencia que nunca olvidare y estoy feliz que mi familia conozca las maravillas de El Salvador.

Every child needs love and caring, but sometimes it doesn’t work out that way. Unfortunately some parents are too ignorant to know what their child needs, and the problem is passed from generation to generation.

In some segments of the Latin American community, this is a real problem. Our parents believe respecting them is a priority above all else, while building a child’s self-esteem is seen as a ridiculous modern notion. Some parents put their needs above their child’s – worried only that they will be taken care of when they grow old. Some parents believe they must be first in your life, above all else – including your wife, children, or your own well being or desire for happiness.

It seems that this problem is taboo to talk about, and so nothing ever changes. If anyone suggests that maybe things shouldn’t be this way, they are called selfish, told that they are sinning and God will punish them, made to feel guilty or accused of being Americanized. (I have endured all these things.)

Hopefully things will change for future generations. At least I know that my children will never have to ask me why I didn’t love them or encourage them. My sons will never feel that I brought them into this world simply to make sure I’d have someone to take care of me.

Though this was overall a happy experience which I don’t regret for a second, it did cause some confusion in me.

There were problems on the first day with my mother, which Tracy already explained on her blog. It goes without saying that this is a difficult thing for me and it’s something that will be an on-going problem. Regardless of the situation with my mother, the trip was emotional in other ways.

For the first few days I felt that I didn’t belong there – that I wasn’t Salvadoran anymore because I didn’t understand how things worked. I’ve lost some of my Salvadoran accent, and somehow, even when Tracy wasn’t with me, people seemed to treat me as a tourist.

After the first week I broke through all that. I felt like I fell into the rhythm of my country. I felt more confident in my actions. I knew where to buy what I needed at good prices and how to get there. I picked up on new slang and incorporated it into my vocabulary. I spent hours talking with my old best friend, reminiscing about old times and creating new memories – our two families together – our kids hanging out the way we hung out when we were their age. I felt proud to show my country to my children – and prouder still that they loved it.

I felt Salvadoran – not like a visitor. But with that new happiness came new problems. Now I felt as if I didn’t want to return to the United States.

Of course the day came when we had to go to the airport and get on the flight. I was surprised that Tracy and the boys were going through a similar mix of feelings. I hugged my best friend goodbye and we both pretended to be stronger than we felt. As the plane lifted off, taking me back to the land of my wife and children, back to my adopted country, back to our house and all its responsibilities, back to work and reality in general, I cried – all of us did.

Once back in the United States, I went through a period of readjustment which still isn’t quite over. Sometimes I feel depressed and nostalgic. At other times I feel thankful, blessed and guilty. I call my best friend daily. He wishes he could live in the United States – wishes he could work in a job that paid him even half of what I make per hour. He wishes he lived in a house on a quiet suburban street like I do, instead of in Soyapango where thieves have broken in and gangs have tagged his home with graffiti. He wishes his son, who is only a little older than my oldest son, had all the opportunities my kids have.

It’s difficult to feel like I belong in two places at once, but that I don’t wholly belong to either.

#5. oysters

(Image source: bocadorada)

#4. flying in an airplane

(Image source: treehead)

#3. my childhood home

(Image source: clarkefreak) - Not my actual house, but similar.

#2. street food (especially pupusas)

(Image source: ceasol)

#1. showing my boys all I can of their roots in 12 days

(Image source: damejiar)

I will always be Salvadoran, but I’m American now too – and I’m proud to say so.

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!

Before we even went into the stadium, even in the Metro on the way to the game and the parking lot before it, I felt happy to be surrounded by so many Salvadorans.

The first game was U.S. vs. Jamaica. I sang along to the anthem of my adopted country, the homeland of my wife and my children, The Star Spangled Banner, (well, I tried but I honestly still can’t get all the words right. Do people who speak English as their first language know what “ramparts” are?) I felt proud to see other Salvadorans waving the U.S. flag and happy when the United States won.

For the second game, as I sang along to El Himno Nacional de El Salvador, I had a flood of memories. I thought back to all the games I went to in El Salvador with my friends over the years and though I felt nostalgic for my homeland, I felt happy at the same time.

We lost the game, which was disappointing, but I’m still proud of my country’s efforts, and prouder still to be part of the crowd that was lucky enough to cheer them on.

While we waited for the Metro train to go home, my wife, Tracy, interviewed me – so, I’ll share that with you.

P.S. – Tracy always taught me that if I don’t know a word, look it up. English lesson of the day from Dictionary.com:

Ramparts – a broad elevation or mound of earth raised as a fortification around a place and usually capped with a stone or earth parapet.

Photo by Mike Schmid

Today a friend of my mother’s asked me how much I paid for my car, and how much we pay per month. My mother does this too – asking how much my household bills are and what I paid for things. Likewise, my Mexican co-workers ask me how much my paycheck is on Fridays, or how much I make per hour, (the gringo co-workers never do this.) I feel that it’s very rude and nosy.

I realize this is a cultural difference. In the past, these things didn’t bother me – but over the years I’ve come to take a more “American” view of personal finances, (in that they’re called “PERSONAL” for a reason!)

I’m not sure how to handle these kinds of situations. I don’t want to be rude in return – but sometimes I feel the impulse to lie or change the subject and avoid the question somehow. Sometimes people are persistent and ask until you tell them. I don’t know how to politely let them know that it isn’t their business.

If you have been in this situation before, how did you handle it?

(Image source)

Chocobananos remind me of El Salvador. My mother used to have them in the freezer to sell, but I would end up eating them all myself.

If you want to make some, here’s how – (very easy recipe.)

CHOCOBANANOS

Ingredients:

Bananas – ripe, but not too ripe, (yellow, without spots works best)
Melting chocolate – (there are special brands especially for chocobananos sold at Latino Markets.)
sticks – (you can use popsicle sticks, but the little ones sold at Latino Markets work best.)

Directions:

Peel bananas and cut in half lengthwise.
Insert sticks into banana halves, about halfway through.
Place bananas on a plate in the freezer for about an hour.
Melt chocolate over medium heat.
Dip chilled bananas in chocolate. Try to cover as much of it as possible.
Place bananas back in the freezer for about an hour. (You can place them on wax paper so they’re easier to remove.)

Enjoy!

Somehow we ended up at a Taco Bell, (or “Taco hell” as Tracy calls it), even though we haven’t eaten there for years – and with good reason – we don’t really like the food.

I pulled up to the drive-thru and, what sounded like a teenage boy, asked to take my order. I gave my order but he asked me to repeat it twice. It became apparent that he couldn’t understand my accent. Suddenly a female voice came over the speaker and asked for my order. I repeated it, and this woman seemed to understand my accent better so I was able to pull up to the window.

My wife and oldest son had been giggling almost the whole time while I tried to order, and I got kind of irritated.

“Don’t laugh at me, please,” I said, while waiting for them to hand the food to us.
“But why did you say ‘Nachos Bell Grande’ like a white person?” she asked, laughing even harder.

I didn’t realize I had, but I guess I did so the Taco Bell employees would understand me.

“I don’t like when you laugh at me,” I said, trying not to lose my temper after I paid and we were on our way home.

“I’m not laughing at you,” she said, “Don’t you realize how funny this is? You’re a native Spanish speaker from Latin America ordering fake Latin American food from gringos, and you had to mispronounce Spanish so they would understand you!”

I still don’t really understand why it was so funny. Maybe it’s American humor? … And I got sick from the Chicken Baja Gorditas. At least now I remember why I don’t like Taco Bell.

(Image source)