This paper was prepared for Psychology 412, Multicultural Psychology, taught by Dr. Fisher.
My culture is derived from relatives of Spaniards who brought their religion to Mexico, the larger part of Texas. We are known at the Tex-Mex Americans. My upbringing was of my parents, who were born in the south of the border of Old El Paso Texas. México may not be my home, yet it beyond the horizon of Mexico, I do feel privilege being part of both worlds. I used to question who I was because of this kind of division, and even crossing the border I was treated differently because I was not wasn't not Mexican enough. Even the language barriers made me a minority among the people because I was an American. Surprisingly, their community referred to us me as “Tex-Mex" I've come to understand that being an American is to be to know your roots but to embrace where a person is from. Growing up Sunday morning, the scent of flour tortillas warming on the kitchen stove and the static on the radio play “Ranchera” tunes to which my mother consistently hear my mom’s voice fading in and out as she sang. Ask me where home is, and I'll let you know simply this. This is a home. This is me. All I've ever known is my Mexican Heritage.
Embracing my Culture.
Which leads into my next paragraph, several months back, I went to a concert in Dallas Texas. I had consistently imagined this first experience as an issue stadium encompassed by smoke and enlightened by a range of brilliant lights. I had regularly censored down home music just in light of the fact that it sounded whiny, and I would dependably get an undesirable mental picture of the cliché "country" not precisely the best motivation to the type of music. I figured I would provide for it a chance to be a slightly different environment from what I was accustomed to. As I am going inside the little-packed cantina, to discover something I had not generally expected, I was the only minority there. In the south of the outskirt, El Paso Texas, I could go anyplace and pretty much everyone is the same skin color. In that room, an ocean of white of people and cowboy hats surrounded me. I did feel out of place, it was simply a circumstance I had never been in. It was diverse. At the point when the music began fiddling, I ended up tapping and clapping to the thump of the music. I was experiencing something new, and yet I was still in Texas. Despite the fact that I was overcome in an alternate environment, it was I was not turning into any less Mexican. Possibly I was going to be more American. I felt just as they were sharing something that was uniquely theirs and it was ok to be part of. Not very long after, when I got to El Paso, I ended up in the opposite situation. This time, nonetheless, I was on the other side. I went to a little Cantina show with my family and old friends. The place was situated up to replicate the feel of a Mexican Cantina. The piñatas and huge sombreros swinging from the roof. By the by, when everybody and the music were united, I could sense an extremely friendly feeling. I knew who I was. I could smell the "Carne Asada" and could taste it in the rice, and I could hear la “Musica” from the Mariachis. There were no fiddles, only trumpets and acoustic guitars strumming. I recollected that night at a country music show and what it was similar to experience. I was glad to be offering those minutes to the non-Mexicans in the gathering, and I felt illuminated and favored to have been on both sides of the circumstances.
What it means to be Mexican-American.
America is a mix of many cultures. There is no one more prominent “American" culture that is free to express and share where they originated. The accepted "mix" of social groups is not unambiguously an accurate representation of America. This nation is “silhouetted” with all types of cultures that help their…