Mexico's Gift to the Pena's

As I enjoy my slow morning in our Savannah home, I continue to reflect on the gift our family received in Mexico.  Purepero, Michoacan was the perfect place to start.  The moment you step foot in my small town, life slows down.  It's the lifestyle.  The town pauses in the middle of the day to eat with the family.  If you’re late because you saw someone on the street and stopped to chat, that is part of the town's culture.  If you don’t have enough money to pay, you pay later.  Purepero has given us time for mental health repair and new physical habits.  Surrounded by love from family and friends we have remembered and have given ourselves the space to heal.  

My mom was born in the US and my dad in Mexico.  So, I'm not 1st generation and not 2nd generation. Would that make me 1.5 generation?  Sounds a bit like my Mexican American experience.  I always knew my upbringing was vastly different than most of the kids in my class in Orange County (one of the richest counties in America.)  Growing up, I didn't feel as "American" as my friends, who ate watermelon and burgers when they celebrated 4th of July.  We had carne asada and elote con mayonesa and not everyone at the party knew the pledge of allegiance.  And on the contrary, growing up I didn't feel as "Mexican" as my cousins.  I grew up between  the US and Mexico.  The US shaped me.  Mexico shaped me.  Both completed me.  I am Mexican American.

My parents did a beautiful job of continuing the culture and language in our lives.  As a Mexican American that becomes harder and harder with every generation.  As we assimilate in a new country.  With new customs, friends and partners it becomes more distant.  My parents worked hard to raise us in a good community and I can imagine their struggle keeping up with the mortgage payment to live in that community.  They chose this community because of the schools, low crime rate and lifestyle.  Side tangit: the inequality of this system is a frustrating topic but that could be a whole post on itself.  Part of the struggle was just that; In order for an immigrant to attend a good school with good resources, you needed to have the funds to live in that neighborhood.  I remember all the sacrifices my parents made for us to be there.  They went above and beyond, it seemed like every decision they made was for us.  My mom worked at the front office of the gym, so she could pay for me and my siblings to be in gymnastics.  We were there after school until the gym closed.  She knew sports were healthy and we had a higher chance of not getting into trouble.  When there was a waitlist at the private school, my mom was there negotiating her way in and making sacrifices to pay tuition.  My mom was born in the US and the only one in her family to get a college education.  She became the Spanish teacher at the private school and that’s how I got in.  My dad worked two jobs; a full time job and a part time job (he chose a second job that gave him flexibility - Real Estate Agent)  As a kid I was drawn to Real Estate and he always made everything seem so attainable.  I loved open houses; my first open house was at 11 (sounds young and ironically that was the age my dad left his small town and moved to Mexico City with his older brothers to study.  My grandparents were big believers that education was vital.  My abuelito told me that he worked multiple jobs to put his kids through private school.  His friends would be enjoying a beer after work, playing pool and they would give my abuelito a a hard time; telling him to stop working so hard.  His response was gold.  "If you think an education is expensive, wait till you see how much ignorance costs you."  

There was a right way and a wrong way for their kids (me and my siblings) to  have a higher chance of succeeding in a new county.  Their decisions were intense.  The US was full of opportunity but I think they also saw that was not the only path we could go down.  

My ancestors risked so that their kids lives would be better. Because of their risks, my parents had a life with more opportunity, yet they still had rivers (metaphorically speaking) to cross.  My parents intense decisions was hard to be the daughter of.  Yet, it allowed for me to have a life with more opportunity; that opportunity in turn has allowed me to live more freely as a parent, without needing to make those intense decisions.  This is privilege.  My ancestors risked more than I'm aware of.  They left their family and homes to come to a country in which they were seen as less than.  They weren't able to walk into stores or restaurants because of the color of their skin.  My grandma pregnant and worked long hours in the fields. They knew it would be hard, likely never knowing just how hard.  They did it for a better life for their kids and lineage.  Not knowing the language or neighborhoods.  A country with different social norms, many times feeling lonely and wanting to be back with family yet realizing the economy back home didn't`` provide.  Many have the idea of working with the US wages and sending it back to Mexico (knowing they won't be able to see their family for years or go back to Mexico because without citizenship they can't go between countries to visit family)  Others are drawn to America to make a life and know they aren't coming back.   My dad was the second and yet, it wasn't easy.  He didn't speak English and had $20 in his sock when he crossed the border.  I'm not even touching on the actual challenge of successfully crossing the border without getting caught and not having enough money to buy food.  After successfully crossing and walking hours in the tree's, he hopped on top of the roof of the train and laid and held on for two hours.  I found out this trip to Mexico, they called that train "Tren de la muerte" (The Death Train) because of the people that have fallen and died.  His story is one for a book, and I’m sure it will be told one day.   

I grew up between Huntington Beach and Purepero.  They were so wildly different.  I was learning so much as I grew up in different cultures.  I learned about my culture and my heritage.  I learned the importance of family and giving on another level.  I learned how to be resourceful, life's simple pleasures, how to siphon gas, how to negotiate (my dad's the master).  Plant medicine became a part of me, gratitude.  I learned to be conscious of what work I take on and how to say no to others.  How to give to myself.  The sisterhood in friendships.  Empathy.  To go inward.  Growing up I learned differences are beautiful and this led to an open mind.  Our world at times can be so divided; we can disagree and still respect each other.  Why do differences scare humans?  Do we feel our security is being threatened?   The fear of the unknown perhaps.  Many of humans differences can stem from a political standpoint; I am not consistently up to date on the opposing sides of politics.  I think compassion and kindness are overlooked at times.  I think physical strength has played a part in human evolution, but more than physical strength, I think human intelligence has played a larger role.  I also think misuse of intelligence has gotten us into world conflicts.  Posing a thought here: If humans are intelligent and misuse of intelligence brought conflict; we can use our intelligence to resolve that conflict.  

As we continue to grow, Bren and I want this environment for our kids.  An environment of compassion and gratitude.  One of groundness and an open mind.  Our kids are also growing up in Orange County and we are grateful to live a privileged life; and so the intentionality becomes stronger in giving our kids a grounded view of the world around them.  Growing up in different cultures opened my eyes to much of this and we are grateful to be so rooted in Mexico.  My great grandma was born in 1906 and lived to 106.   We had the privilege of growing up with her, learning from her and listening to her stories of a time now in history books.  Our Mexico house was passed down through the generations to our family.  I walk the streets of Purepero that I've walked for decades and stop to chat on every corner.  I am pieces of all my abuelitas and the town knows it.  We talk about them often as I walk the streets.  I married an Irish Mexican born and raised in Huntington Beach.  My roots could have been unrooted but Brendan sees the beauty in most things and truly loves Purepero.  In turn, our kids have the opportunity of growing up between Huntington Beach and Mexico.  Their roots are strong and it has been beautiful to see the gift Mexico continues to give our family.