My Hispanic Heritage

By

Valerie Almanzar

Ever since I was a child, I knew I was very different. It wasn't only the food that I indulged in that made me feel different, but also my customs. Only with time did I learn to appreciate and understand what my Hispanic heritage meant to me.

The food that I loved and treasured so much was very foreign to many of my friends. I remember one day at school chile was served. Many students were complaining of how hot the chile was, but it was spinach compared to what I was used to eating. My taste buds were spoiled from the hearty salsas my grandma and mother make.

For Christmas every year, we would light luminarias and sing Christmas carols. My mother and I would stay up really late making biscochitos and drinking milk. The scent of cinnamon would fill the air, and our hair would be matted with flour. My favorite food was the empanaditas that my grandma would make. I always have loved biting into the mincemeat and finding pinon. Another food that I enjoy is pastelitos. When my grandmother introduced me to pastelitos, she didn't know that I would get hooked.

Another fond memory that I have is going with my mom on a "trip" to buy green chile. Even today, we still go to Wagner Farms in Corrales, New Mexico, to buy green chile. We roast the chile, peel it, and then put it in bags so that we can enjoy it in the winter months.

One year, a friend of ours told my family about some pinon trees which had a large crop of pinon. We spent a whole day picking pinon with some friends and relatives that we invited, and we brought home twenty pounds! After we picked the pinon, my family and I would clean the pinon and then roast it in the oven. Ever since this experience, I have learned to appreciate the pinon trees outside my door.

My heritage is only mildly reflected through the food I eat, but it is also expressed in my looks as well as my mannerisms. A friend of mine (who is Anglo) once told me that she wished she was Hispanic. I couldn't understand her reasoning and I asked why. Her response was, "The Hispanic culture is very proud; they have a great love and passion you don't see in many cultures. The family of the Hispanic heritage is very close; they trust, love, and support each other whole-heartedly; you don't see that very often.

I never really understood what my friend meant; not until my grandpa died. The death was very hard on everyone. He had been suffering from Alzheimer's, but it was my grandma's courageous heart that helped her make the decision to keep my grandfather at home, and she would take care of him. We knew he was very sick and my mother wanted to go visit him. When my grandfather had become very ill, we went to go visit him, but his death bed wasn't in the traditional hospital room, it was his bedroom in his house. He died peacefully, and all of his family was there by his bedside to say their last good-byes. The funeral was very stressful, but I remember my uncles holding up my aunts. They were there to comfort, love, and support them. They cried, but we were all going through this together and that was all that mattered.

One of the memories that I have is coming home from school after getting my school pictures. I remember looking at the brown eyed, brown haired girl staring back at me, I couldn't understand or accept why I looked very different from many of my classmates. The blond hair and blue eyes I didn't have reminded me of how different I really was. I yearned to have the simple last names of all my other classmates, the ones that the substitute teacher never had problems pronouncing. I would sit down and look at photo albums and see how beautiful my aunts were. I saw my grandmother's high school picture and thought she was gorgeous. I also saw a picture of Marilyn Monroe and noticed how different her beauty was. It has been through my experiences in life with my parents that I have come to love and respect my Hispanic heritage. The days of wishing to look different have passed me and now I am proud of who I am today.