Belonging to a Ward Family (Para Mi Barrio Latino)

It's late and I really should be sleeping, but like always, I won't be able to sleep until I get this post out of my head and onto my blog.

When Diego and I first got married, we dined at Chinese restaurant owned by a Peruvian family. I purposely took Diego there because I knew the owner was Peruvian and thought it might be nice for Diego to talk to someone from home. The owner of the restaurant was very friendly, and on finding out that we were LDS, he asked us if we went to a Spanish ward. He told us we were in his ward boundaries and that we should go on Sunday and see how we liked it.

The following Sunday, Diego and I went to the Spanish ward. When the ward clerk asked if we were visiting or staying, before Diego could say anything I said, "We're staying." And we've been going ever since.

The ward has become my family. I love each and every one of the members as if they were my crazy aunt or uncle so-and-so.

One family in particular, the Lizjuan family, has been extraordinarily kind to me. Brother Luis Lizjuan sat in my Sunday School classes when I taught the youth. He always had amazing comments about his mission. He always asked how I was doing, and told me what I good teacher I was.

When I was pregnant, the only thing I craved was brownies from Zupas. I posted an off-handed remark about it one day on Facebook and not ten minutes later Sister Esperanza Lizjuan was sending her daughter Deyra DOWNTOWN to the office where I worked with three different brownies from Zupas. Who does that? It made my entire week, nay, my entire pregnancy!

The week after I gave birth, Sister Lizjuan, along with many other wonderful Relief Society sisters were at my house with meals and hugs and "Ooooh que linda! Se parece igualita a su papá!!"

Last week, Brother Lizjuan had an accident at work. A bad accident. He has a collapsed lung and a swollen brain. He's in a induced coma while they monitor the swelling in his brain. They've already removed a piece of his skull to allow relief there.

On Friday, Lucia and I, along with another one of my favorite families, the Warburtons (Jon and Luz) went to visit Sister Lizjuan in the hospital. She hasn't left her husband's side. Jon and Luz watched Lucia in the waiting room so I could go and visit Brother Lizjuan in the intensive care unit.

While Sister Lizjuan, the nurse, and I talked about his condition all of the sudden I started feeling very lightheaded and ended up on the floor after nearly passing out. I went to the doctor that night and they found that I have an infection.

Yesterday, though, I was feeling better again, so I put off picking up the antibiotics the doctor had prescribed. I figured it couldn't hurt to wait until Monday to pick them up.

Today I church I nearly passed out again. And there was my ward, being amazing as usual. I felt embarrassed for calling so much attention to myself; I started to cry. A few of the brothers helped me to another room where they gave me a blessing. Sister Noemi Delgado took care of Lucia while they did and then she drove me home.

Tonight my bishop called just to make sure I was doing okay.

I know this is a long maybe not so connected entry, but I just wanted to say to any of the amazing ward members that read my blog: THANK YOU! I cannot express how painful it will be to leave you all next month. I'm already dreading it. I will miss my sweet Latino family that has accepted this Spanish speaking gringa as one of their own.

I'm grateful that the Church allows us to create these friendships with otherwise complete strangers.

If you haven't said your prayers tonight, and even if you have, please remember Brother Luis Lizjuan. He is an amazing father and husband and friend and neighbor.

Lucia y mamá

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Papito and me

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"How We Met" Stories

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My (kind of) formal complaint against the West Valley Driver License Office

Dear West Valley Driver License Division Office,

Your city has a Hispanic population of over 46,000. With this statistic in mind, and as a college grad with a B.A. in Latin American Studies, I'd like to give you a little more information about your second largest racial group, to help you fix your system, policies, or at least your lousy customer service representatives.

It is a standard practice in Latin America to use two last names: one from your father and one from your mother. Your father's name comes first, then your mother's [maiden] name.

For example: Maria Cruz and Jorge Sanchez get married. They have a child named Juan José. So little Juan's name is going to be: Juan José Sanchez Cruz.

Not too hard, although I know it may seem a little complicated. So here's one more quick example:

Mother's name: Guadalupe Ramirez
Father's name: Alberto Vasquez
Child's name: Alberto Junior Vasquez Ramirez

Okay, I don't want to bore you, but just so I make sure you've got it, I'll even use some "Anglo" names to make sure there is no language confusion.

Mother's name: Mary Smith
Father's name: John Deer
Child's name: Little Johnny Deer Smith

Ta-da!

Now, when two people get married in Latin America, traditionally the woman only takes her husband's first last name (her father-in-law's last name) and when they have kids the maiden name of the mother is dropped off and not passed down to the next generation. Thus:

Groom: Alberto Junior Vasquez Ramirez
Bride: Juana Rodriguez Martinez de Vasquez

The word "de" means "of" and just means that she is married to someone whose last name is Vasquez. Some people don't follow this practice as strictly, but if a woman does take her husband's last name, she never takes both last names. Just the first.

And their child's name would be: Fulano Vasquez Rodriguez

Okay, so this practice has been going on for a really long time in Latin American countries, and so when a Latin American person comes to the United States, they (still) have two last names.

That creates absolute havoc for people in the United States, especially really official and legal places, like immigration, banks, DMVs...etc. We have this thing with people always having the exact same name. Otherwise, they could be pretending to be someone else.

Most latinos, for simplicity's sake, decide to keep just there father's last name, following the traditional pattern used in the US. However, some decide to keep both last names. And some, like my husband, aren't really given a choice.

My husband's last name has been arbitrarily picked by immigration officials. So on his Visa (which was his first legal form of ID in the United States) both last names were provided as his surname. His next government issued ID was his Work Permit, which only had his first last name. With that form of ID he was able to get his Social Security card, so that also only has his first last name.

Then they decided to switch it up and put his two last names on his Green Card.

Yesterday my husband went to your office to get his driver's license. He said he just wanted his first last name on his license, so it would match his Social Security card. One of the workers there said that would be impossible and insisted on including his second last name as well. Okay, I guess...that's okay. It shows on his Green Card as "Cabrera Saldana" so I guess we can handle that.

But then they put a hyphen in between the two last names. So now my husband's last name reads "Cabrera-Saldana." That is in no way, shape, or form, my husband's last name. It's different. And after working at a bank and working with immigration for over 2 years, I know that tiny details like that make a difference. They make life suck for us.

So I told my husband to go back and tell you to take the hyphen out of his last name. But you refused. You said that it had to be that way for the system to recognize it. I don't know what system you are using that wouldn't allow you to put a space between two last names, but it needs to be fixed to accommodate the thousands of Latinos that come into your office every day with the same problem. (I've checked with a few other Latinos who had no problem putting their two last names [without a hyphen] on their license.)

This is not the first problem of this nature that I've had with your office. When I tried to change my last name after my husband and I were married, you insisted that I take his two last names, because that's how his name appeared on our marriage certificate. Even though my Social Security card, which I changed first, only had his first last name. The person helping me said, after I tried to explain to him that it was his mother's last name and I didn't want to take it,

"I know how it works in Latin America, but we legally we have to do things this way. Unless you have some way to prove that it is his second last name."

So my husband whipped out his ID card from Peru. On his card it says, "First last name: Cabrera, Second last name: Saldana." In Spanish. The person helping me said,

"I know what this says. I know that this is how it's done in Latin America. But I can't accept this; it's in Spanish."

They made me bring in my husband's birth certificate, with a certified translated copy in English before they would allow me to change my name to Hannah Cabrera.

I don't know who is in charge over there or who I need to launch a formal complaint against, but as soon as I find out, they will be sure to get a lovely message from me.

Life is too short to spend hours in line at your office over and over again because you can't handle the fact that some people have names that are a little different.

Sincerely,

Hannah Cabrera

Welcome to the United States

[originally posted on another of my blogs on July 24, 2013]

My husband sent a text message to a wrong number today. Innocent mistake. This is the response he got.

"Welcome to the United States of America. If you live here, learn to speak f**ing English" 

(censor added)

What solicited such a hostile response? A simple message asking about a ride to work. Oh, and part of it was in Spanish. 

I've been mulling over in my head exactly how this text makes me feel. My husband is an immigrant from Lima, Peru. He has been in the United States for a little over a year. I was born and raised in Southern California, I moved to Utah with my family when I was 15, and I'm about as "white" as you can get. I descend from Swedes, English, French, Germans, and who knows what else. However, I am just as likely to write a similar text message (and mine would probably all be in Spanish) and accidentally send it to the wrong number.

So how would our overly enlightened American friend have responded if I had sent the message? Well, I imagine he would have responded in exactly the same way, since you can't really tell anything about a person through a text as simple as, "Hey man, do you know who I'm riding with today?" Unless, of course, it's in another language. More importantly if it's in Spanish. Then you know a whole lot about the person, right? 

I've thought of a million responses I would LOVE to send to our anonymous pen pal, our hospitable representative of the American welcoming committee. My husband won't let me send any. Not even a small one like, "Ever heard of being bilingual?" or "I already speak English, you douche bag."

In writing this blog, I came across an article entitled, "The United States Doesn't Have an Official Language." Which is a fact that apparently many people don't know, or simply choose to ignore. I read one of the comments at the end of the article. I literally laughed out loud.

"I think people should have the right to speak their language in their home, however, in public places the language should be english and the signs should be in english.

We are losing the significance of the United States of AMERICA!"

(Read more at http://www.todayifoundout.com/index.php/2012/08/the-united-states-doesnt-have-an-official-language/#C68zOQF6HflXlfko.99)

I laughed because of the emphasis on the word AMERICA. First off, let's think about where the word America even comes from. Amerigo Vespucci, an Italian explorer, stated that the West Indies and Brazil were actually a brand new separate land mass, rather than the outskirts of Asia, as thought initially by Columbus. The American continent, and subsequently the independent country of The United States of America, received their names from him. So if we are going to get back to the significance of AMERICA, let's all learn Italian.

Secondly, America describes three different regions: North America, South America, and Central America (oh, and let's not forget American Samoa! Where there is an official language, and it is not English). So, again, epic fail on calling on Saint America to back you up on your, "English is the only language that should be spoken publicly in the United States" crusade. 

To be concise, I've thought a lot about what I want to get from writing this blog. I'm sick of just ranting and venting about injustice and ignorance purely for the sake of ranting and venting. The only way to rid ourselves of ignorance is by combating it with knowledge. So, do me a favor? Let everyone know The United States of America was named after an Italian, primarily inhabited my Native Americans (if that is still the politically correct term), and then overrun by IMMIGRANTS from all over the world. So let's get over ourselves and go learn another language! Or at least tolerate those who speak one. 

[POST SCRIPT]

I truly DO understand the frustration met by those who are trying to communicate with others and cannot do so because of language barriers. My husband and I were checking out at Sears the other day, and the lady in front of us was trying to speak Spanish to the cashier, who obviously did not know a baño from a burrito. Of course this is frustrating; it was probably equally as frustrating to both women. The point I am trying to make is not that we radically change everything about our country for the sake of purposely confusing all of those who are not fortunate enough to be bilingual, but rather that we have a little more patience and understanding when those kind of circumstances do arise.