An appreciation of a uniquely American language: Spanglish
When you stand between two worlds, you can feel neither here nor there. Growing up in a Mexican American household in Texas often made me feel that way, especially when it came to language.
Some members of my extended family spoke only Spanish. Other members of my extended family spoke only English. And in my home, we spoke neither language perfectly and both languages often. We spoke Spanglish.
“Go get the brush off the cómoda,” my mom might say to direct us to the dresser.
“Use that big cabeza of yours,” my dad might say when we did something without thinking.
My sisters and I grew up being called “mija” and my brother “mijo,” shortened versions of mi hija and mi hijo, my daughter and my son, but we called our parents “mom” and “dad.”
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