A few weeks ago I was happily planning
my Thanksgiving menu and guest list when my inbox was infiltrated by
a cryptic message in Spanish. It said something like “Beware the
Expo is upon us” in an ominous email tone from Jacob’s Spanish
teacher. I had no idea what an Expo was, so I ignored it thinking
that more information was sure to follow.
Six days later, another email in Spanish arrived from Jacob’s teacher. This time I read it more carefully. Jacob had been assigned a group project for the Expo in which he was expected to use various mediums to discuss the traditions and customs of the Mexican state of Veracruz. As if a group project weren’t bad enough, the dreaded Expo was to take place on none other than Thanksgiving Day.
So I emailed my friend, (we’ll call her Mo) one of the other American moms who sends her kids to the local elementary school instead of across the border to California.
Me: Can I just play dumb and pretend that this isn't happening? That's Thanksgiving. I think we should get an American pass on this assignment.
Mo: I would love to, but I think I already confirmed receipt. Ugh. I hear they have good food in Veracruz.
Me: I hope Jacob can read off index cards, because there's no way he's going to make it through a Spanish presentation any other way. So, we're supposed to get together with the other parents and divide up who is going to talk about what? How complicated is this? Wait, don't answer that. It's going to be super complicated, isn't it?
Mo: Yes. Yes it is. And just to warn you, the mothers usually do most of the work.
Two days later, another email crept into my inbox, this time from one of the mothers of a kid in Jacob’s group. The subject line read “Our children homework,” and she had emailed me in English. Here’s the gist.
She and the other mothers from Jacob’s group had already met (without including me) and had divided up all the work. One would prepare traditional dishes, one would bring crafts, one would bring music and I-- well, I would cut and paste pictures to a three-sided board. I had been given the gringa handicap. I mean, how much could I possibly screw up their group project if I was just making a three-sided board? I was both insulted and relieved to not be handling the more complicated aspects of the group project. The only thing troubling me was the clear indication that this was my project and not Jacob’s. I just don’t believe in doing my kid's homework for him.
So I emailed her again, just to clarify, emphasizing what “Jacob” was to do. She responded by telling me how all the kids should dress and said, “Maybe this is a little bit too much, but this is the way it has always been done. You could not believe. One of the mothers has the next day another presentation of Egypt, and my God, they are going to have a sculpture of Tutankamun.”
Who was I to get in the way of generations of Mexican Expo tradition?
But still, it was on Thanksgiving. And I had already made plans NOT to send my kids to school that day. Because no matter where you are in the world, I believe that it’s important to honor your traditions and not forget where you came from. It doesn’t matter if we’re in Tijuana or Bujumbura, we are first and foremost Americans, and if we forget that, we really have no business representing our country diplomatically. Maybe Thanksgiving's not important to some people. It is to me, and it's not something I'm willing to give up easily. So my plans for the day included stuffing myself with turkey and relaxing with the people I love. Nowhere in that scenario did a group presentation on Veracruz factor in.
So I was upset. And I fussed and griped for two weeks straight, a fact which Chris will unhappily confirm if pressed. I just couldn't get over the fact that of all the Thursdays in the month, they had chosen that particular one. It's not like we're a long way from the U.S. here. The school itself is a measly five miles from the border with a cultural distance much wider.
In the end, Jacob and I got out our glue sticks and scissors, and we worked up the best three-sided board presentation that a second grader could possibly produce. And just to add a little sparkle, we strung battery-operated Christmas lights around the top of the board. Because, after all, we do care. And we do try to fit in.
Thanksgiving morning, Jacob proudly toted his giant board to the presentation area and set it up on an awaiting table where it would be joined by the amazing work of the other group members' (mothers). Sometime during the assembling, his project was moved out of the way, onto the ground, but Jacob didn’t seem to mind. He stood beside it, satisfied with his accomplishment, and did his best to answer his teachers’ questions both in English and in Spanish. Luckily, his Spanish teacher allowed him to read from cards. Bless her heart, I didn’t have to deck her.
When the Expo hour had passed, we grabbed Jacob and headed for the house, all relieved that we had survived. I had still done more work on Jacob’s homework than I felt was appropriate, but it paled in comparison to the artistry of the Mexican mothers. The thing is, no matter how hard I try, I will never be a Mexican mother. And I just have to accept that.
Six days later, another email in Spanish arrived from Jacob’s teacher. This time I read it more carefully. Jacob had been assigned a group project for the Expo in which he was expected to use various mediums to discuss the traditions and customs of the Mexican state of Veracruz. As if a group project weren’t bad enough, the dreaded Expo was to take place on none other than Thanksgiving Day.
So I emailed my friend, (we’ll call her Mo) one of the other American moms who sends her kids to the local elementary school instead of across the border to California.
Me: Can I just play dumb and pretend that this isn't happening? That's Thanksgiving. I think we should get an American pass on this assignment.
Mo: I would love to, but I think I already confirmed receipt. Ugh. I hear they have good food in Veracruz.
Me: I hope Jacob can read off index cards, because there's no way he's going to make it through a Spanish presentation any other way. So, we're supposed to get together with the other parents and divide up who is going to talk about what? How complicated is this? Wait, don't answer that. It's going to be super complicated, isn't it?
Mo: Yes. Yes it is. And just to warn you, the mothers usually do most of the work.
Two days later, another email crept into my inbox, this time from one of the mothers of a kid in Jacob’s group. The subject line read “Our children homework,” and she had emailed me in English. Here’s the gist.
She and the other mothers from Jacob’s group had already met (without including me) and had divided up all the work. One would prepare traditional dishes, one would bring crafts, one would bring music and I-- well, I would cut and paste pictures to a three-sided board. I had been given the gringa handicap. I mean, how much could I possibly screw up their group project if I was just making a three-sided board? I was both insulted and relieved to not be handling the more complicated aspects of the group project. The only thing troubling me was the clear indication that this was my project and not Jacob’s. I just don’t believe in doing my kid's homework for him.
So I emailed her again, just to clarify, emphasizing what “Jacob” was to do. She responded by telling me how all the kids should dress and said, “Maybe this is a little bit too much, but this is the way it has always been done. You could not believe. One of the mothers has the next day another presentation of Egypt, and my God, they are going to have a sculpture of Tutankamun.”
Who was I to get in the way of generations of Mexican Expo tradition?
But still, it was on Thanksgiving. And I had already made plans NOT to send my kids to school that day. Because no matter where you are in the world, I believe that it’s important to honor your traditions and not forget where you came from. It doesn’t matter if we’re in Tijuana or Bujumbura, we are first and foremost Americans, and if we forget that, we really have no business representing our country diplomatically. Maybe Thanksgiving's not important to some people. It is to me, and it's not something I'm willing to give up easily. So my plans for the day included stuffing myself with turkey and relaxing with the people I love. Nowhere in that scenario did a group presentation on Veracruz factor in.
So I was upset. And I fussed and griped for two weeks straight, a fact which Chris will unhappily confirm if pressed. I just couldn't get over the fact that of all the Thursdays in the month, they had chosen that particular one. It's not like we're a long way from the U.S. here. The school itself is a measly five miles from the border with a cultural distance much wider.
In the end, Jacob and I got out our glue sticks and scissors, and we worked up the best three-sided board presentation that a second grader could possibly produce. And just to add a little sparkle, we strung battery-operated Christmas lights around the top of the board. Because, after all, we do care. And we do try to fit in.
Thanksgiving morning, Jacob proudly toted his giant board to the presentation area and set it up on an awaiting table where it would be joined by the amazing work of the other group members' (mothers). Sometime during the assembling, his project was moved out of the way, onto the ground, but Jacob didn’t seem to mind. He stood beside it, satisfied with his accomplishment, and did his best to answer his teachers’ questions both in English and in Spanish. Luckily, his Spanish teacher allowed him to read from cards. Bless her heart, I didn’t have to deck her.
When the Expo hour had passed, we grabbed Jacob and headed for the house, all relieved that we had survived. I had still done more work on Jacob’s homework than I felt was appropriate, but it paled in comparison to the artistry of the Mexican mothers. The thing is, no matter how hard I try, I will never be a Mexican mother. And I just have to accept that.
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| That boy has a way with scissors. |
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| Jacob and his group. This marks the third time this year he's been assigned to "dress like a Mexican." This time he's sporting a Cuban-style shirt called a guayabera and a Veracruz-style sombrero. |
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| Chris, Jacob and the blight of Thanksgiving |
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| Jacob explains his project to his English teacher. |
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| The work of another group of mothers, I mean second graders. |
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| And this one takes the cake. Isn't it amazing? |
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| I'm so proud of Jacob. |
That market diorama is too funny. Although, it's amazing what "second-graders" produce in Fairfax County, I must say!
ReplyDeleteYou should've carved a Veracruz diorama out of turkey, I say.
ReplyDeletezomg, that tiny, tiny food in the market diorama! It's the same here with Brazilian mothers. The girls had to do a "float" for a parade on their Brazilian state out of a cereal box or similar sized item. My girls were the only ones who did their own. Most were bigger than a breadbox, motorized, glossy, and unbelievably intricate. One of my girls cried a little, but her American teacher was wonderful and made a big deal about how she did it all herself. She even got an A!
ReplyDelete