Immigrants face many challenges when coming to America, including the pressure to assimilate and the erasure of their past and cultural roots, or all the things that make up who they are as people.
The typical expectation is to fit in, forget their language, learn English, and give their children names that are easy to pronounce and hold no ties to the land they were raised in. This month, and every month, it’s so important to remember the value of keeping culture and celebrating it in America, despite the social structures that pollute our country and force us to think otherwise. I am proud of my father and his family’s journey here from Cuba and it is something worth celebrating every day of my life. Especially the struggle of his parents, who gave everything for their children, so they could live a life in America and raise a family themselves one day. I am the product of the hope and strength of my grandparents and their parents too and that is something I will always be proud of. This month, I spoke with my father about his experience coming to America, and the ways that he and his family keep their culture, never once forgetting where they came from.
It was 1972 when my dad and his family arrived in America but they were able to find pockets of culture and Cuban community in the town they came to, in New York.
“We joined the Cuban Club that was on Beekman Avenue. All the Cubans that lived in Tarry town. We all went there, for parties, sweet sixteens, graduation parties. During the week it was used for the older Cuban population to come in and play dominoes every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. My grandfather would open the club… He had the key so he would open the club at seven o’clock every night and he would stay there till like 10.” Hearing my dad tell this story, I felt like I was right there in the Cuban club myself, getting served an ice cold soda from my bisabuelo.
The stories of our ancestors is what keeps their memories alive, and maybe for a moment, even allows us to step into a memory ourselves. Pretending for a second we are there with them, watching them in a piece of the past, smiling as they do in the photos we are shown. Family photo albums of my cousins, uncles, and aunts from these moments in time make my heart feel a little bit fuller. Full of not just love but nostalgia for a day that I wasn’t even alive for, but for some reason feels so familiar. And maybe that’s because we all replicate these photos and stories in our own way. These future generations of daughters and sons that continue to carry out these legacies of laughter, love and Cuban culture.
“We were living it. We were living the Cuban culture because we spoke Spanish, we had the food. My parents would tell stories about Cuba, so you felt like you were really really grounded with Cuban culture. It was pretty cool to listen to my dad tell stories. He was on the swim team and the baseball team and my cousin’s father was a mechanic and he would tell stories of how he had a mechanic shop.” My dad said.
Growing up in a community packed with family and friends who were all Cuban, helped my father really hold onto that piece of his identity. Every celebration with friends, every Cuban dinner, or group dance to Cuban music, and the beautiful stories, kept Cuban culture alive in everyone’s heart. “Guajira guantanamera” was one of my dad’s favorites and brings back instant memories for him.
“We would do dinners and dancing, salsa, merengue.” My dad said. “They always danced.”
Apart from the Cuban club and spending time with family, my dad celebrated his culture in other ways, through Cuban foods and even recalls the memories that accompanied these meals.
“I remember my grandmother used to make a really big Cuban meal every Sunday, and my mom would help, but it was mostly my grandmother. It could have been a number of dishes that she put together and worked hard all day for us. We were very thankful.” My dad said.
“There were desserts, a lot of desserts. There was arroz con leche, rice pudding, there was flan… It was just crazy how many desserts we had. But there were also the dishes, always complemented with tostones, a nice avocado salad.”
My dad and I both share a love of ropa vieja, our favorite meal, which is shredded beef in a yummy brown sauce, but his personal favorite dessert was arroz con leche, specifically made best by my bisabuela. He recalls her making pots of this delicious recipe for him and his brother, which they’d eat from the pot while it was still steaming.
“She would make a big pot of it and then she would take it out and put it in small containers. She would give it to me and my brother with little spoons… We were supposed to let it cool off but we still ate it while it was still hot.”
Recently, my dad and stepmom also had the chance to visit Little Havana in Florida, which was a beautiful chance for my dad to immerse himself in the Cuban culture. “We went to almost like a museum, where you walk around and it shows you all old pictures and videos and memorabilia from Cuba that’s maintained behind glass. You got a really good idea of what the country is like and that was pretty cool.” My dad said.
“Pictures of the streets, the people hanging out in the streets. You see the clothes, the Guaybera shirts, the very Cuban button down shirt that’s very popular.” I remember when I was little my dad and I had matching Guaybera shirts we would wear, mine was a light pink and his was a light blue. Being able to see all these iconic photos in person, surrounded by Cuban culture is something I’m glad my dad got to experience again.
My dad really enjoyed visiting, and I hope someday I can go too. When I asked my dad why he thought it felt important to visit and be there in person he explained it helps him remember and connect with that part of his identity. “So you don’t forget where you came from.” He said. “To remember your roots and what it’s all about to be Cuban.”
Whoever you are, and whatever your story may be, I hope we can all find a way to keep our culture, this month and every month. The history, stories, songs and languages that make up our family trees, deserves to be celebrated and remembered and we can all do that in our own way. As someone who grew up as the daughter of my father who immigrated from Cuba and who was also raised by my Italian mother who grew up in New York, I sometimes struggled with balancing the two parts of my identity. I wanted to feel like I was fully appreciating both sides equally but sometimes it was hard. I felt like if I didn’t spend a lot of time with my Abuela or Abuelo, or if I didn’t speak Spanish often, or if I went weeks or months without eating a Cuban meal, I was losing a piece of my identity, or I was losing touch with that side of my culture. But the truth is, that piece is never gone. It’s embedded into our hearts and baked into the memories and stories that make up who we are. For those who are excited to celebrate Hispanic Heritage month, I think this is something we should all remember, this month and always. It’s special and beautiful to be Hispanic.
“Be thankful. Thankful for the culture, for the people… my family.” My dad said. And that is something I will always be.