10 “Living the Dream that they did Not: An Eyeopener to Cultural Literacy”
10 “Living the Dream that they did Not: An Eyeopener to Cultural Literacy”
Jocelyn Rodriguez
Rodriguez offers a personal and insightful perspective of her culture and the realities to what she has faced throughout her lifetime.
Walking over five miles to get to school, and making the trip back home, was what my parents did up until the age of 10. My father had to get a job, and my mother had to stay home to watch her siblings. It was not that they dreaded the walk, but rather that it was the norm for their generation living in Mexico. Throughout my elementary school years, I did not understand the concept of why it was important to have an education. My parents always pushed me to do well in school, but I did not know the reason behind it. Before reaching the 9th grade, I did not grasp how important being a child of an immigrant and receiving an education was within the older immigrant generation here in the United States. This epiphany of cultural literacy, or the understanding of how customs play a role in a specific community, changed my outlook on the significance of an education. Although going to school was a part of my daily life, it was my 8th grade year in middle school, when my older sister graduated, that I realized the value an education had for my parents.
Going back to what I recall of my elementary school years, I remember that I was always a well-rounded student. I would do what the teacher asked, and participate in various activities, like the science club. One thing that will always stick with me is each time the teacher asked to raise our hands if our parents had helped us with our homework, I was the only one with my hand down. This was due to my parents not speaking English. I would get frustrated and confused when the teacher asked that because it conflicted my parents’ views. My parents expected me to do well, how am I supposed to do well in school if my mom and dad can’t help me, I thought to myself. When, in the rare occasion, I would bring home a grade lower than a B, my parents would get mad at me. I would just sit there and wonder why they even cared so much. At the end of the day it was only school, or so I thought back in when I was young.
I continued to have good grades in middle school, and was even in advanced courses. My parents were proud of me. I assumed it was because I was getting good grades, so I did not give much thought to their joy. Every time I received an academic award, my parents would take off work to come see me. I understood that an academic award was something special, but I did not know why it meant so much to my parents to see me accept a piece of paper with my name on it saying congratulations. They had kept all my academic awards I had received, since kindergarten, in an old Nike shoe box the was the color of an elephant’s skin instead of a bright pumpkin sitting outside of Walmart when October sneaked around. School was starting to become more meaningful to me, but I was still not clear as t