first generation

she grew up in two worlds

she went to a predominantly white school

then when she went home, she opened the door into Latin America

she had a private education at a public school

but her father would raise her as if she lived in a third world country

rather than a nice American city

she would eat mini corn dogs for the school lunch

then tostadas at home for dinner

she would stand for the fifty stars in the morning

then marvel at the much more colorful flags that hung on her home’s walls

she would draw herself with the yellow crayons, and her father with brown

she would remark that he would not be able to ride the bus with her and her mother ‘back then’

she thought of herself as the same as all the other kids

she had no idea of the battle she would soon face

she had no idea of how rich her culture was

she had no idea how scared she was to be pulled over

she had no idea how scared her uncle would be to renew his diver license

she would have no idea how many ‘jokes’ she would have to laugh at

how many times she would have to answer “So where are you really from”

how many times people would command her to Speak like it was some sort of party trick

how happy she would be to finally have some colored friends

but most importantly, she had no idea how proud she would be

how proud of her culture, she would be

how proud of her parents, she would be

how proud of her language, she would be

porque eres de Américalatina

un pueblo sin piernas, pero que camina