I am not American. Yes, I was born here, and yes, I was raised here, but I am not American. My first language was Spanish and I spent my days after school watching Spanish cartoons. Physically, I was in America, but my heart and mind were always in my Spanish heritage. I remember coming into school with my last-night’s-dinner-leftovers lunch every day. My classmates eyed my food with disdain; I looked at their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches the same way.
After coming home from school, I asked my mother why my food was different from theirs. She explained that every different culture has different food that goes with it. I soon learned that it was not only the food, but also the mannerisms and music and language and a whole lot of other