Won't you be my neighbor?

All through life I have given myself great motivation for learning things, but a lot of my motivation stems from a slightly (ok, greatly) neurotic fantasy of my childhood. From when I was 2 to when I was 8 I lived in the northern regions of Canada. I fit in perfectly and was fairly popular. When I moved from there to Southern California I stuck out like a pale white kid who said "eh?" and "I beg your pardon?" in a sea of dark brown faces who shouted "huera!" and "callate!" All of the sudden I was different and being the brilliant person that I was, I realized that I was in for it.

I got mocked for being white, smart, and ::gasp!:: horror of horrors! skinny. Every day after a bad verbal whipping from my peers I went home, looked at myself in the mirror, and told myself that when I was older I would be able to defend someone like me. Every time something bad happened to me I imagined a glowingly gorgeous vision of me in the future knowing exactly what to do and having compassion on the present lost and struggling version of myself.

Being that I believe in keeping promises, especially promises to my poor defenseless self of the past, I've learned Spanish, I know about the different cultures of Latin America, and I see how they work into the great American family. I can now defend myself against insults in Spanish. The thing that I never bargained on as a child, but now treasure deeply, is that I understand things from their point of view. I always knew what happened to me - I lived it, but now I know why those little kids felt like they had to treat me meanly.

Although I occasionally still feel odd when I look around the grocery store and realize that I am the only wearer of white skin, and it still hurts to hear old ladies insult me when they think I don't understand what they are saying, it is also good to be able to go up to someone and communicate. It kicks butt in a serious way to be able to talk to my neighbors and ask how their kids are doing or to crack a joke with some gap-toothed kid at the check-out stand. Knowing a language doesn't give me stuff worth saying, just the ability to say stuff. But being able to say stuff is worth lots because then there is a chance for a human connection, and that is worth all the world. I now have enough rope to either hang myself or save myself.