A Journal Entry Of a Mexican American Migrant Essay

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I was asked by my Cultural History teacher to explain what it felt like to belong to a subordinate group in the community. I was dumb founded, “did he say what I thought he said,” as I stared at him in horror he must have read my mind for he seemed to wane some. The thought of standing before my classmates and divulging such personal thoughts was overwhelming and I was sure the result would be devastating. I feigned, “I have strep throat” I said with a foggy voice, “could I do this another time?” How could Mr. Wilson put me on the spot like that! Did he realize what he was asking me to do? Speaking publicly of trying to fit into a community I have had such mixed feelings about. This was not something I wanted to do before my classmates. I had tried so hard to fit in and not seem different, “what was he thinking!“ I knew it could be said that I belonged to a subordinate group of Mexican Americans residing in Toughkenomon Pennsylvania, but to ask me to state the obvious in front of my peers, “really.” I could not wait until the bell rang so I could leave. Finally the bell rang, I decided to walk the four miles home and be alone with my thoughts. I would normally take the bus, but ever since the incident in my class I needed the fresh air and time to think, besides it was Friday and I had plenty of time to do my chores when I got home. As I made my way along the cracked and patchy sidewalk, I could not get my grandmother Fernanda Liliana’s words out of my head. If she said these words to me once she said them to me a thousand times, “Maria Ana,” she would say,” be true to yourself, proud of who you are and where you come from.” I felt shamed as I heard her words echo in my mind. Why couldn’t I be grateful for all my familia had done for my sister Yolanda Eva, my brother Javier Jesus, and I. Was I turning into a thankless and self-centered elder child? I should be

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