By Annabel Garcia –

Walking into the kitchen, I moved my hands across the chair leaning forward listening to my father talk about his day. I finally let myself fall into the chair as my mother called “Annabel ve a limpiarme la sala.” It felt like an order from a general to a soldier to clean the living room. My bones fell back into position, and I trudged into the living room where my brothers had left the remains of a pizza.

In that moment I thought, I’m tired, tired of the expectations that my mother’s traditions uphold.  She was brought up to believe that women should stay with their family until the day they get married and start a family of their own. The women of the family were supposed to learn to cook, clean and take care of our brothers and sisters. We became mothers even before we got the chance to have our first kiss.

Every Saturday in my home, each of us kids would be given chores to do around the house.  My eldest brother Luis would get some odd job and then end up on the couch playing video games. My brother Joel would ALWAYS be told to clean his room but ended up listening to Biggie Smalls on the highest volume. However, my older sister and I would go around the whole house cleaning every corner.  Even my youngest sister who at 6 years old was too little to clean would run around getting extra paper towels or other things we needed.

Don’t get me wrong, my mother wasn’t and isn’t this meek and mild housewife. I think her entire push for us to be domesticated came from the traditions she learned growing up. I’ve come to realize that she feared for our future if we weren’t these domesticated women that would make good wives. I felt like she would think it a failure on her part if we were not able to cook a meal or clean a house properly.

However, certain requirements for being a wife stayed. My mother to this day will say something like “Ay mi’ja, si no sabes cocinar tu esposo te va a regañar.” The idea that one-day my husband will judge me by my cooking, cleaning and child-rearing abilities rather than my intellect or charm upsets me. I mean it really made me so mad to have my mother of all people guiding me with this information.

When my mother would call me to the kitchen she would end up doing all the cooking herself. She would always mutter something under her breath that would spark up an argument about my abilities to do anything around the house. My dad would usually sweep in to my rescue me. He would put his arm around me and say, “Dejala, ella es la artista.” He would stand by his belief that I was an artist therefore didn’t have to have the ability to cook and clean. It was belief I didn’t find beneficial to argue with.

Ironically, my Latino father seemed to do the opposite of my mother. My father would teach me to hammer in stairs or throw a punch. I’d laugh out loud during dinner at burps, everything a señorita is not supposed to do. Around my mother being proper was what was expected. Around my father I felt like I didn’t have to edit my words or make sure I was doing the girly thing all the time.

The fact that we are exposed to American culture enforces the idea of individualism vs. Latino community thinking. As American women, we’re expected to get an education, get a career and then find a husband and have children. As a Latina, we’re expected to fulfill some education, find a husband and have children. La familia is to Latinos the most important factor in life. My mother has always been the person who says “todo para la familia,” everything for the family.

My mother herself at one point has said that being over educated can cause us as Latina women harm. Now she has reevaluated her ideas on education. She began to have more of an independent voice. At first she didn’t want my older sister to go to college. But she changed her mind when she saw her do well in school and that education could lead to a career.

Sometimes, I’ll catch her looking through my books and she will let her glasses hang on the hook of her nose. She marvels at the words and one time she looked up at me smiling and said, “Mira estoy en el colegio.”

I looked down at her as she looked up at me so proud to even pretend she was in college. I finally let myself respond and said, “Tu eres mi colegio.” You are my college is what I responded to her. She has taught me so much more than any teacher has. I value every moment she has shared with me more than any “A” I’ve received.

Annabel Garcia is a journalism student at Columbia College Chicago.