*
An early memory: one hand clasps a bowl of soup. The other extends, fingers out. Cuchara off my lips seamlessly. Jack and Jill Preschool. 1983.
*
I try researching the school online. Like my native tongue, the site no longer exists. Memory // dream. What severs the two?
*
I text my mother: “why was I put into an all-English speaking Kindergarten?”
A full minute of ghostly ellipses.
*
It only took months to become proficient. One language fell behind the other.
*
Finally, my phone buzzes: “no bilingual allowed at the time.”
*
My partner sends me a pdf, “brief history of bilingual education.” I learn that full assimilation usually happens after three generations.
*
I’m the first generation born here on both sides of my family.
*
What I learn: shortly after I was born my parents left West Whittier for the East side. My mother uses barrio, her choice of noun ominous.
*
What I learn: my sister was being recruited by a local gang. White suburbia distanced us.
*
Returning home, I attempt to visit the preschool. Now a church, its spires cast shadows on trimmed lawn.
This piece is part of a larger manuscript that’s forthcoming via The Operating System in 2018. “Susurros a mi Padre” represents my efforts to connect language and culture, family and loss. The book charts my fractured relationship with my father: a man whose Mexican blood I inherited. I collage memories, first-hand accounts, and interviews related to my Latinx identity in an effort to resurrect the culture that alludes me. From Los Angeles to San Jose, this is my journey to redefine myself.
