Lively and always in the mood to dance, it’s hard to ignore aspects of my grandmother mirrored in myself. She spent her childhood in Sonora, Mexico; she was the second child of ten—the eldest daughter. Born in poverty, she was forced to take on the responsibility of helping to support the family. As she got older, she realized attaining an education in Mexico wasn’t feasible; she’d have to keep paying for classes and couldn’t afford it. She immigrated to America at 13 years old (late 60s, early 70s); she lived with her uncle. She began working in a factory to earn income. She eventually met my grandfather—who was one of the factory supervisors at the time—and they hit it off. My grandmother often reminisces about her childhood in Mexico, but also feels grateful to have left. She was never willing to forget nor give-up her Mexican heritage. Like the 1940’s Pachucos, however, she continues to battle with a sort of “double-consciousness.” Pondering endlessly, “Am I more Mexican or am I more American?”—a lingering question for many immigrants and minorities alike. My grandmother’s immigration experience is unique in the minor details, but overall echoes the challenges endured by most immigrants in preserving their cultural identity and assimilating. Inspired by her story, I purchased the Smithsonian Pachuco song disc three years ago. We listened to it together—I enthralled by the context, she enthralled by the beat; we danced.   

Relationship:  Grandchild of im/migrant Grandchild of im/migrant