The other day, my Mom and I were walking our dog, Angel (Angela or Awn-hey-lah to my mom), around the Murf and randomly this lady stopped us to say hello. This never happens.
I truly believe that whole "southern hospitality" thing only applies at the grocery store and to casually wave at your neighbors as you hurtle pass them in your car. People simply aren't THAT nice on the streets so I was already approaching this woman with suspicion. I felt this was fine since Angel's ears were perked up and her sniffing sounds were getting louder in that typical dog way of saying..."who the hell are you?"
As usually happens in casual conversation, the question that follows "What's your name?" is of course, "where are you from?". I think for most people this is a pretty simple question but for my Mom and I, it was kind of weird. We gave each other a glance that conveyed slight terror but more specifically expressed an "Eff, YOU ANSWER IT!" type of emotion.
I just kind of fumbled on my words like I was in the witness protection program and reluctant to share such personal information and said:
“Oh, I’m from here and she’s from Ecuador”.
It seemed like such an inadequate answer but got me to thinking how I’m going to deal with this question as I head to Mexico, live there and throughout the rest of my life upon returning. If the complications of this question aren’t clear to you already, let us consider some of the answers I could’ve given our strangely nice neighbor:
Q: Where are you from?
A: "Oh,well, we're from Stonetrace Drive a couple of blocks from here"
-Pffft...since Stonetrace Drive is hardly another state or country, I feel this is an abnormal answer to this question.
A: "We're from America"
-I feel that only a drunk person abroad or somebody trying to prove citizenship status would say this...
A:"Well, we've been in Tennessee for years but we're originally from Miami"
-Well that doesn't really cover it all does it? I mean, I'm sure my parents have no problem claiming Miami as a "hometown" since they lived there for 20+ years but it does kind of exclude the birthed in South America part.
The only answer that would adequately convey the story of where my family is "from"is the following:
My dad was born in Colombia and my mom was born in Ecuador. They are now U.S citizens and have lived here longer than they did in their native countries but still have accents and other habits that most certainly impede them from being considered the average “American”. My sister and I were born in Miami and moved to Tennessee during the middle school years. We’ve spent more years in Miami than here, but if you’ve ever spoken to us, you probably couldn’t tell from the occasional southernism.
There is no doubt, Tennessee has been good to us. Here, we have accomplished things that may have been virtually impossible had we stayed back in South Florida. But if home is where the heart is, Miami is home.
At our house, football season is marked by the purchase of DirectTV’s Sunday Ticket so that my dad can watch every single Dolphin’s game and Basketball season this year ended sadly as the entire Villamizar clan realized “the decision” fell short.
Still, the truth of the matter is, the question,"Where are you from?", is really just a PC way of getting to what most people REALLY want to ask, which is:
“What ARE you?”
I used to hate this question. These days, despite its lack of tact, I tend to appreciate its directness since it always sucks having to decide whether people want to know where I live or if they want to hear: “My dad is from Colombia blah blah blah....”
And NOW, after years of living in a place where I’ve gotten questions like:
“You speak Spanish but you’re NOT Mexican? How does that work?”,
I am moving to Mexico and adding an entirely new element of difficulty in explaining where I’m from/what I “am”. Now, people are certain that I have some ancestral connection to Mexico and I have to give an entirely different spiel about my decision to apply for Fulbright Mexico, the fact that I have never been there, and that it is unlikely that despite the skin tone, anyone will believe I am actually a chilanga (slang for native Mexico City dweller). I am sure that for the rest of my life, I will be clarifying the fact that I lived in Mexico for a year but I am not from there in any sense of the word.
Interestingly, I have never had to make that clarification for the time that I spent studying in Spain.
In honor of the latest Hurricanes scandal, my attempts to see the splendid 2009 documentary, The U, and the fact that I’ve met 4 “The” Ohio State University folks in the past 2 weeks, here is a little clip that makes me happy that I have such amazing places to pick from when explaining where I’m from, where I’ve lived and who I am.
When the Miami Hurricanes lost to Ohio State in the 2002 Championship game in a double overtime play, we knelt in front of the TV, we prayed and then, when we lost, I cried, didn’t sleep that night and it’s never been the same since but still..loyalties don't change.
UPDATE: Been in Mexico DF, for a 1.5 days, and where I’m from has come up a lot. People want to know where my Browness and slightly Cuban twang comes from, I have already danced Bachata twice and the man at the breakfast counter this morning pondered, “Tennessee?” with an, “I’ve never heard of that place before” look on his face.
Get it DF.
