Cristina Baldor

Personal Essay

       I think one of the experiences most uniquely tied to the United States is that of living between two cultures. It is the experience of being Cuban-American and losing your Spanish while trying to fit in with kids whose families do not eat black beans and rice with Thanksgiving dinner. The experience of explaining to naïve and ignorant youths that, «No, not all Cubans come on rafts.» The experience of having to tell your friends why it really was so bad for Elián González to go back to Cuba; of knowing they would never understand until they packed boxes of clothes and prescription drugs to send to family members living in unnecessary poverty.

       I am the youngest member of the first generation of my family born in the United States. As a rule, the children in my family do not leave the house without a wedding band or a military uniform. I grew up in a family where men are catered to, picked up after, and generally given the last word in most matters. I grew up with my father laughing at my brothers’ adventures in womanizing and my mother hiding the phone from him every time a boy called for me. Chaos ensued when I announced I wanted more from college than what South Florida had to offer.

       Being Cuban in America is a range of events, emotions, and ingrained cultural knowledge. It is middle school biographies on Jose Marti (the Cuban freedom fighter and poet), and knowing the words to two national anthems. It is having a manicure in someone’s living room while talking to complete strangers about your most personal problems. It is the realization that things will never be the same; that the grandparents who risked everything for a better life will never see their homeland again. It is the realization that although Cuba is in your veins, America is in your brain and you can never be part of both things fully. In Cuban circles, I am the one born here; the one who never saw Cuba or lived in communism or knows what anything really means. In American circles, I am the one born different; the one who has a year round tan and eats weird food and «…must have come on a raft when she was little.»

       In the past year I have realized the extent of my Americanization. I have realized how all the characteristics, good and bad, of a Cuban upbringing have made me who I am today. I realize that although I will always have a tie to my Cuban heritage, it is not all that I am or ever will be. I stopped pigeon-holing myself in the Cuban group and have friends of every creed and color. I appreciate being American because of the fact that I am sometimes not considered a «real American.» I think the College of the Holy Cross would benefit from having a Cuban-American like me because I represent a new generation. Cuban-Americans entering college today are just starting to break through familial customs and traditions to form their own niche in American society. I want to be a part of it.