Growing Up Gringa, but Completely Latina! My parents were born during the Depression in Harlem, New York. Their parents immigrated to the U.S. from South America and Puerto Rico. When I came along, the last thing my parents wanted to do was raise me in their Latino culture so they set about raising me as gringa as possible. And in hindsight, I admit to a certain extent they succeeded. I didn’t grow up hearing, talking or learning Spanish. I didn’t even really grow up hearing the Latin musical sounds that are so much a part of my life now. I grew up anglo, but with a last name of Rodriguez. Under my parents reign, I never lived in a Hispanic neighborhood and certainly none of my friends were of Latin descent. It wasn’t until sometime during undergraduate school that I started making friends with other Latinos. I became part of an international student organization where students from all nationalities participated, got along, and flaunted their cultures. It was here that I became borderline embarrassed that I didn’t know the Spanish language, didn’t cook any of the foods indigenous to the Hispanic culture and certainly didn’t know any of the many wonderful things that make up my heritage. I was an outsider in the small group of Latinos studying at the University of Texas at Arlington that year. But even though I felt alienated, the alienation was internal - my mind trying to grapple with who I was, who I was to become. While working on my undergraduate degree, I took a summer off to go to Spain. I enrolled en la Universidad Complutense Madrid and had an absolute blast. Between classes’ en la U, a private tutor and immersing myself in the culture, I formed a solid foundation for major decisions later in life. Upon graduating with a BA in Communication, I did something unexpected – I traveled to South America to learn about my ancestors and learn the language. My parents were shocked! “Why go now, when you have just graduated?’ They could not understand. I knew that I needed some questions answered and an adventure to South America was exactly in order to continue my search of who I was and who I was to become. With $200.00 in my wallet and an infinite amount of optimism, I arrived in Ecuador in complete naiveté.Traveling to a new country and experiencing a new culture can be exhilarating and scary simultaneously. The adrenaline and curiosity are peaked as one tries to fit in new surroundings. I arrived at the home of a distant family member who I had never met and tried to fit neatly into their lives. That lasted about two months, 1 1/2 months too long. I was their white novelty and could not live in the small box their minds had prepared for me. Once I found a job teaching at an international school and a place I could afford, I ventured out once again on my own, much to the disdain of my newfound relatives. My first year in Ecuador was full of learning, adjusting, exploring and although I experienced some difficult situations with taxi drivers, bus drivers and hepatitis, I loved it. Discovering Maná, Luis Miguel and Shakira along with ceviche and cafécito con leche left me wanting more. One year turned into nearly eight and only after a coup d'état, I decided that it would be best to move back to the states with my three year old son and Ecuadorian husband in tow. Nearly eight years gave me a healthy dose of learning about my heritage, learning a second language and earning the right to call myself a Latina. The experience also taught me a lot about myself, my never satisfied hunger for adventure, and the stuff I was made of – tenacity, curiosity, flexibility, and diplomacy. Back here in North America it took me time to adjust to a much different lifestyle. It was a shock and difficult for me to get used to the break neck pace of life that characterizes my home country, the intensity of building a career and overwhelming consumerism that can keep our priorities askew. In reflection, my time in South America was life changing. The tranquil pace of life, domestic help, the natural beauty of the country, the lack of preservatives and additives in the food, the music and the beauty of the Spanish language - these are some of the things I miss. I would not trade that season in my life for anything. I am a better person for having lived where my grandparents were born, for learning Spanish and the many rich idiosyncrasies that are now part of me - empower me to boast that I am a Latina. Living here in the United States, raising my son to be true to his Latin culture is a wonderful responsibility that I now take great pleasure in. .