I met her last November when I was in the throes of total intimidation at even coming to our church’s Hispanic group.  Many weeks, she was the only other woman there, so we bonded pretty quickly.  At that time, though, she spoke no English, and I spoke very little Spanish, so it was a sort of “I really want to like you!” kind of bond more than anything.

That’s changed over time.  As we learn each other’s languages (and spend many opportunities flipping through photo albums – less speaking required!) we’re slowly getting to know each other’s stories.  A hard-won friendship, but turning out to be a good one.  Not just between her and me but also between her and the twins.

And THAT is what makes her most remarkable to me.  Reyna has her own son.  He’s back at home in Belize and is two years older than my guys.  It will be some time before she’s established enough here that she could sponsor his coming.  So she talks to him on the phone every night, but she misses seeing him and holding him.  A lot.  Of course.

And then here I come, more than “established enough.”  Comparatively, Fred and I are totally rich.  And I have not one but two sons.  Hispanic sons.  (Playing right into the cultural tension about white families adopting “their” children from Latin America.)

About a month after we met, she told me that my boys reminded her of her son, and she teared up.  So I know she feels it every time she sees us.  But that is it.  There has been no resentment, no distance.  Instead, she embraced me, loves all over our boys, and makes sure to be friendly to Fred and any other friends I bring along to special events.

What a lot of grace and sweetness. 

Make no mistake, she’s tough.  Her life here is hard.  I feel challenged every Sunday night when I go to a place where everyone else “belongs” and speaks another language.  But every working day, every time she goes shopping, every time she goes anywhere outside her home it is like that for her.

Yet very purposefully, she’s growing in her English.  Which of course spurs me on to keep doing the same with Spanish.

I can’t wait for the day when she and I can just sit down and chat.  Or really talk about how we’re doing.  We’re not there yet, but it’s coming.

So cool – the surprise friendships life brings.

And a total answer to my prayers for my kids to grow up knowing and loving other folks who share their heritage.

It was another cultural learning experience for me this weekend as Nancy and I threw the Hispanic Ministry’s first baby shower.  Nancy is married to Mario, the ministry leader, but like me, she’s a “Gringa” – frequently the only other one there on Sunday nights.  So, yes, we’ve sorta bonded. 

But, cultural ignorance aside, we figured we know how to put the basics of a baby shower together: food, decorations, gift table…

And we let it take on a life of its own from there.

And what a life it had!

Here’s what I learned from my first Latina/Hispanic baby shower:

1.  Kids, kids and more kids!  Every woman who came whose kids are in this country brought them.  All of them.  There were more than twice as many children as there were women in attendance at the shower.  So all the balloons I had so tidily installed at the corners of the streamers around the room?  Kid toys.  About an hour in, they were flying around the room, tiny hands bopping them to and fro.  Fifteen minutes later, when one of the boys discovered a cool place to pop them, they were gone.  ‘Cause of course popping balloons is way more fun than playing with them.  I went ahead and called Fred and told him just to bring the twins and take the evening to himself.  They might as well be there, too!  The end of the evening may have seen me running full-speed around the yard with about 10 small dark-haired heads not far behind.  Tag.  Decorum?  Out the window.  But fun?  Oh yes.

2.  The Menfolk – will tell you that baby showers are “just for the women.”  However.  That’s.  Not.  Quite.  the Case.  The guys all drove their wives (and aforementioned offspring!) to the event.  Very gentlemanly.  I like it.  And then?  They stayed.  Now to give them the credit they are due, they did stay off to themselves in a side room and out on the deck.   They did wait to be invited to come get drinks, then food, then dessert.  But they were there.  The whole time.  Want proof?  Here it is (though this is not all of them):

Now in fairness, the shower was at Mario’s house (he’s second from the left).  And it was Manuel’s baby being honored (he’s on the far right).  The rest were just there.  They’re family – or like family – to Ana and Manuel, and I’m glad they stayed.  But, wow, you can’t get our U.S. American guys to come to a baby shower for anything!  No way!   These guys?  Not into the “girly” stuff at all; of course not.  But they were apparently happy to be there and helped carry all the stuff out to the cars at the end.  And the couple having the baby felt supported by all their friends.  It was great!  But yes, there were loads of men at the baby shower, too.   And men eat more than women.  It’s just a fact.  One I’ll be taking into account the next time I’m planning one of these.

3. Community – When one gal’s having a baby, it doesn’t matter whether you know her that well – or even at all.  You come.  You give a small gift.  Whatever you can afford.  You help because sometime in the past someone has helped you, or sometime in the future, they will.  I’ve been around for seven months now, and I happen to know for certain that these three ladies barely know Ana, but they came anyway!

The one in the middle is my best friend in the group, Reyna.  Nancy takes care of the kids on Sunday nights, and a lot of the other women end up having to work, so Reyna and I are frequently the only women in the Bible study.  Consequently we’ve gotten pretty close.  She’s learning English just as quickly as I’m learning Spanish, thank goodness.  But even from the beginning, she really wanted to be my friend and was remarkably patient with my limited ability to express myself.   I’m sure I’ll be writing more about her in the future.  But back to the shower…

4.  Games, Gifts and Cake - With all the aforementioned kids in attendance, there is no way to fit in one of those “change the baby doll, using only cloth diapers” relay games.  Ah, well. 

On to the gifts.

But, oh yeah, the kids are there too.  Mom gets to see the gifts but doesn’t necessarily open them.

Moving on to dessert.  Tried to get a shot of the cake but someone had already beaten me to it and added some prank cashew “parents” peeping into the center baby carriage.  Very tasty nonetheless.  But I tried to picture my own mom trying to run this shower.  Oh the “chaos!”  No way.

 5.  Hermanas Son Hermanas [Sisters are Sisters] – I asked Ana if she’d like a picture with her sisters at the shower.  Like me, she has two.  Like me, she’s the oldest.  And I had to laugh when they lined up in what I call “Prom pose” for the picture because just a week ago my sisters and I did the same thing when getting our picture taken at the beach.

Who taught us to do that?  I don’t know, but apparently it’s universal. 

6. Acceptance for the Faint of Skin Tone – I’m used to sticking out in this group.   I get a lot of “muy alta!” (”very tall!”); I tower over the women (here with Ana).

My Spanish is sketchy at best.  I sometimes mix up my “tu” (informal “you”) with my “usted” (formal “you”) with newcomers, which could be considered rude or overly familiar.  (Honestly, I’m not exactly sure when it’s the right time to make that switch, so I guess and then listen for reciprocation.)  I don’t get all the jokes, and they think it’s hysterical when I employ the little bit of slang I’ve picked up from them.  But when I was about to leave with the twins, Manuel and Ana stopped me at the door, grabbed Mario and Nancy, and told us that while they had been worried about having a baby here – without their families to support them – they now consider us their U.S. family. 

They weren’t expecting it from “personas quien no son hispanas” [people who aren't Hispanic ... that they even phrase it THAT way is noteworthy; they're trying NOT to use the term "gringas" because of its sometimes negative connotations]. 

They actually didn’t even think the shower would really happen.  [I guess they've been let down by people who look like Nancy and me before.]  But it did, and it was HUGE – 50 people easily.  And they have most of what they need to start out with this new baby girl they’re having.

Alisson.  That’s her name.  A U.S. American name (though Manuel did point out that it’s originally Arabic.)

Truly, all I did was pick up some fruit, hang streamers and balloons, buy a gift, and ask around for some hand-me-down clothes and toys from the young moms I know.  Just that little bit of effort by someone who looks like me made a big impression.  I  get it, and yet I don’t. 

But that’s why I’m totally sucked into this group.  What a wild and loud event!  But full of joy, support and LIFE.  Not a “baby shower” like I’m used to.  But I could get used to it – would really like to get used to it.

My first Hispanic baby shower.  Of many, I hope.

Stand-out words of the day:  former slur terms that are now used as national identification slang (often with pride) by the various people of Central America.

Happy to share.

I am already the proud mother of two of the cutest Chapines (chah-PEEN-ays) in the USA.  “Chapin” or “Chapina” means someone from Guatemala.  Having done some cursory research online, I believe the term comes from a type of shoe that the Maya people wore hundreds of years ago which made them easily identifiable by people from other regions.

Our future kids from El Salvador?  “Guanacos.”   Or “Guanacas” if they’re girls. 

It’s always good to know these things, right?

As for the Complete Central American Slang-Term List:

Mexican – depends on the region.  “Chicano/a” is a U.S.American of Mexican descent, “Chilango” is someone from Mexico City, “Chollero/a” is someone from Los Cabos  (refers to a type of cactus there)

Guatemalan – Chapin/Chapina  (after a type of sandal worn by the Maya in this region in pre-Columbian times) 

Belizean - ???  (I thought my friend was just being coy when she said there is no term, but it appears that her native country somehow escaped without one!)

Salvadoran – Guanaco/Guanaca (derived from Maya tribal band, refers to brotherhood)

Honduran – Catracho/Catracha (after a 19th century military leader, Florencio Xatruch)

Nicaraguan – Nica, Nicoya or Pinolero/Pinolera  (the former and second are shortened versions of the country name, the latter refers to a drink made in Nicaragua called “Pinol.”)

Costa Rican – Tico/Tica (refers to the use of diminutives in speech… similar to when we add “ie” or “y” to the end of a word like “birdy” instead of “bird” … apparently Costa Ricans are stereotyped as very likely to over-employ these.)

Panamanian – Pana (abbreviation for the country)

I, of course, remain and ever shall be a “Gringa” (most commonly ascribed to the Mexican-American War era when U.S. soldiers wore green uniforms and those fighting against them wanted them to leave their turf and return home…”Green, go!” = “Gringo” and now refers to anyone of light complexion from North America or Europe).

Lest anyone wonder what kind of Hispanic Bible study I’ve joined, please keep in mind that I didn’t learn these till today.  In the woods.  They’re not part of our every-Sunday vernacular.  But at least if someone wants to toss me a teasing ”Gringa!” now, I know how to retort, country-appropriately!

Yeah, street cred.

Our copy of the U.S. Census 2010 arrived today, and true to claim, it took me less than 10 minutes to fill out.  For any of you who haven’t received yours yet and are curious, you can see all the questions on the form on the U.S. Census website.

The most interesting thing (and it’s pretty straightforward, so nothing really enthralling) was that there are two separate Race/People Group questions – #8 and #9. I guess I didn’t pay attention to that last time, just checked “White,” “White” (oh so very pale) and moved on.  Hadn’t even met Fred yet, last time.

But this time, answering for our whole family, I actually had to stop and think how I wanted to fill out the latter question.  Question #8 is “Is Person X of Hispanic, Latino, or Spanish origin?  Easy enough: ”no” for Fred and me, “yes” for the twins, with a write-in of “Guatemalan.” 

But then Question #9 asks “What is Person X’s race?” and I had to decide how to list the twins, since Hispanic/Latino/Spanish is not considered a race according to the census.  I ended up going with two answers for them – “White” (their Spanish ancestry) and “American Indian or Alaska Native” with a write-in of “Maya.” 

I don’t think it will make any difference to our kids, how I answered the question, but since the census does purport to drive future government policy and programs, it occurred to me that registering them to the best of my understanding of their full heritage may benefit other people who fall into both categories but identify only as “White” (a fairly common practice among Americans of Latin American origin from what I understand).  There does seem to be an up-tick of Native-American pride in the Central American countries, but “Indigenous” people are still considered “lesser” and are oppressed people groups in many of those cultures, so some decide to distance themselves from those roots.  Indeed, the boys’ birth mom listed them as “not indigenous” on their birth certificates even though her heritage is quite evident from her picture.

Funny how something as simple and routine as a census can represent so much.  I do want the twins to be proud of the way God made them, and I believe I set the tone by my being pleased that they are just as they are.  And tonight, it meant taking an extra few seconds to be thorough on a government form.

Would love to hear how others of you who have adopted registered your kids, too!

Or maybe it’s something else.  Don’t know.   But at any rate, I’ve been struggling with a bout of something like “survivor’s guilt.”  I went, I played with some kids who have nearly nothing, and then I came back to my very-comfortable life here in the U.S.  Meanwhile those same kids are heading into another week of only basic physical needs being met. 

So that’s why I went into bloggy-silence for a bit there.  Still processing.

But I went downtown and bought long-promised circus tickets the other day, so we can take the boys when Barnum and Bailey come to Baltimore in April.  It’s not “the answer,” and I do hope to remain effected by my (albeit brief) experience in El Salvador (and to return again, when I can).  But I also do need to readjust to “normal” here – though with a greater appreciation for all I have, and all I can give my kids.

Pretty sure more will come of it than that in the future, though.  Not sure what, but something.  Fortunately, Fred doesn’t think I’m totally whack.  So I’ll keep you all posted.  But for now, please accept this as my transitional post back into the blogosphere. 

So far, Lucy (the other woman I came with, from Kentucky) and I have 1) moved into the house where we’re staying for the week, 2) met the missionary who lives there for this year, 3) met the missionary who owns the house and used to live there, 4) met Rick, our Salvadoran adoption facilitator (who took us to the grocery store and then brought us back “home”), and 5) ordered dinner delivered … from Pizza Hut of all places.  I have everyone’s solemn word that we’ll eat culturally-authentic food from now on, though.

Tomorrow, I’m scheduled to work at one of the government-run orphanages, “Centro Infantil de Protección Immediata” (Center for the Immediate Protection of Children) or CIPI for short.  It’s a place kids are brought when they’re taken from abusive or neglectful  homes while the government child-welfare agency figures out what to do with them.  A lot of them just get stuck there.  It’s also a place for teen mothers to come have and raise their babies when they fear abuse at home.  And it’s a place where handicapped or special-needs kids are brought when their families can’t take care of them.

So yes I’ll be diving right in.  Probably by myself, since Lucy has to be somewhere adoption-related (she’s the director of our agency).  I’ll report back tomorrow night!  (Hopefully with pictures; I just need to make sure that it’s ok to post photos of the kids as long as I don’t identify them personally in them.)

Thanks for your support and prayers!  I’m really glad to be here!  Fairly sure tomorrow’s going to be emotionally tough, though.

I think our group leader likes me.  But he announced to the group a few weeks ago that “Kim has volunteered to go first and will be sharing her testimony in Spanish next week.”    – Announced it to them before announcing to me that I would be speaking so soon! 

Only he said it IN Spanish, so it sounded like

 >>Kim se ha ofrecido a ir primero y va a compartir su testimonio en español la próxima semana.<<

… good thing I understand more than I can speak or I’d have never known!   

I wasn’t exactly feeling the love at just that time.

But then it snowed, and “next week” got postponed a few more times, until last night.  “T-Day,” in my mind.  Less beach storming, but just as much risk of coming under fire, I felt like.  And so with much “ansiedad” (anxiety), I went prepared with my little pieces of paper from which to read.  (‘Cause Lord knows I really DON’T speak much Spanish!)

To be perfectly honest, I don’t much relish the idea of giving my testimony in English.  It involves revisiting things from my past that I don’t love talking about.  So adding to that a translation into another language and then sitting with a group of people who don’t know me all that well yet (how can they?  I rarely talk!) … I was more than a bit jittery.

But I made it through, and the funny thing to me was what stuck out to the group:  “in this country lots of people keep journals.”  [The co-leader went on to explain how we can use them to look back on where we've been in the past.]

That’s it.

When I talk about my history, my worst fear is not being believed.  Second worst: being rejected because of some part of my story.  What I’m very comfortable with the whole world knowing is that I journal ridiculously and have been doing so since elementary school.

And what was the one thing that was mentioned about my story after I was finished reading?  The part I was not the least bit anxious about.

Funny how we build things up in our minds to be so intimidating.

So to be clear [in case Mario is reading this!], I’m not ready to have to speak at any length again anytime soon.  But the exercise of writing out my story, popping it into Google Translate, and then painstakingly going back through it and making sure that it actually said what I meant – THAT was a new milestone, and probably a good one.  Regardless of what my lack of appetite before tonight’s meeting, case of the trembles, and other biological side-effects I won’t mention here may have indicated.

It’s set me a new goal: I want to be able to speak from my heart in Spanish without having to spend hours ahead of time with a dictionary only to “just read it” in the moment.

It’s going to be a while, I know.  But that’s where I’m aiming.

“Huzzah!” for another stretch.

I went to the first meeting with what could best be described as a feeling of dread.  I’m not really a shy person, but I’m not that good at not being good at things.  And I am not good at speaking Spanish!  So I was a little bit terrified that I would be received with something resembling “What are you doing here you silly white girl?”

But we went anyway, the twins and I.  Yes, I hid behind my children as my ticket to legitimacy.  And yes, I did overhear a few comments about how we were all “gringos.”  In Spanish.  No harm meant, I’m sure, but there it was: my fear realized.  I don’t “match.”  I’ll never be a Latina.  And because my sons are being raised by Fred and me, they’ll never exactly match, either.  They’ll look Latino and sound Anglo. 

But somehow, once I actually experienced what I had been fearing, it wasn’t so bad.  There it was; the truth.  But on the other hand, I knew I was trying.  Trying to connect my children with people of their cultural background, trying to connect myself with people of my kids’ cultural background.  Trying to find a way for all of us to learn Spanish.  And yeah, it was dumb and useless that I took French in school, but I didn’t know that at the time, and I’m doing my best to make the switch now.  So instead of a crushing blow, I decided to frame it as a challenge and do the work to fit in.

I can’t say I feel totally comfortable now.  I want to respect the context of the group and limit my use of English, so consequently I don’t say much (anyone who knows me well, knows this is not the normal me).  But the cool thing is this leaves me with one option: asking questions that get the others in the group to give me long answers (thus saving me from having to talk and also allowing me to get to know their stories at the same time).  And wow, what a cool few friendships I’m making already!  I can’t wait till I have use of more words to express myself there.  But in the meantime, maybe it’s more useful to the others there that I’m nothing if not a space where they can express what’s going on in their lives?

I’m hopeful.  And very appreciative.  Because tonight I noticed there were no comments anymore.  No whispered questions between other members of the group as to whether I had “had” my kids or adopted them.  The core members know, and somehow that’s proven to be sufficient.  I’m in.  Yes, I struggle and my pronunciation of the little bit of Spanish that I do know is off at times.  But I’ve been accepted.  And that’s a great testimony to the graciousness of this group of people who have – I know – had many negative experiences with people who look like me, both in their native countries and here in the U.S.

I’m still “la gringa,” but a welcome one.  Good thing because I’ve had a sense for a while now that this is where I belong.  No idea what God is going to do with it, but I’m growing to love this group, my sons’ people becoming my own.