One night, out of the blue, my stepson asked, "why did we come to the United States?"
I froze. What did he know or think or mean by this?
Turns out that he's doing a unit on immigration in his History class, which makes sense given that all of his classmates are recent immigrants and therefore have a strong personal connection to the topic. So his teacher asked each of the students why they came.
It's hard for me to remember that kids asking questions are, well, just kids asking questions. There are fewer underlying implications or sub-contexts. But when these profound questions come up I have to take a deep breath and remind myself of this. So I took my deep breath and then asked him how he responded. He said, I came to the US to study, which opened up a debate between him and his sisters, who didn't feel that his answer was sufficient. The youngest, who often comes up with the wisest answers, said that my husband married me and I was American and so they all came to live with me here. I couldn't help adding the detail that the two of us made this decision together, but her explanation pretty much covered it.
Of course the situation is much more complicated. Before my husband and I got married, I spent three months in Niger, with two huge questions to answer: 1) could I imagine parenting his children and 2) could I imagine moving to Niger on a longer-term basis? One answer was yes, the other no. And the consequence is the displacement of an entire family from their community and culture. I know that there is no utility in feeling guilty about that, but sometimes I do. I also know that while they have given a lot of things up to be here, they also have a lot to gain. And I know that I have given up a lot of things to get them here.
But when these questions come up, I have to simply sit and listen because in that moment it's about them. They are making their way into this experience of acculturation, an experience that I've never had. So it's my job to hear that process unfold.
A few nights later, when my stepdaughter said that her teacher had asked if she was going to live in the US full time or "half in half" US/Niger, and that she had responded half in half, I froze again. How should I react to something like this? And the answer is--despite the fact that half and half isn't remotely feasible, and that I felt guiltier than ever about that fact--I shouldn't. So I didn't, and then we continued on with our day.
I froze. What did he know or think or mean by this?
Turns out that he's doing a unit on immigration in his History class, which makes sense given that all of his classmates are recent immigrants and therefore have a strong personal connection to the topic. So his teacher asked each of the students why they came.
It's hard for me to remember that kids asking questions are, well, just kids asking questions. There are fewer underlying implications or sub-contexts. But when these profound questions come up I have to take a deep breath and remind myself of this. So I took my deep breath and then asked him how he responded. He said, I came to the US to study, which opened up a debate between him and his sisters, who didn't feel that his answer was sufficient. The youngest, who often comes up with the wisest answers, said that my husband married me and I was American and so they all came to live with me here. I couldn't help adding the detail that the two of us made this decision together, but her explanation pretty much covered it.
Of course the situation is much more complicated. Before my husband and I got married, I spent three months in Niger, with two huge questions to answer: 1) could I imagine parenting his children and 2) could I imagine moving to Niger on a longer-term basis? One answer was yes, the other no. And the consequence is the displacement of an entire family from their community and culture. I know that there is no utility in feeling guilty about that, but sometimes I do. I also know that while they have given a lot of things up to be here, they also have a lot to gain. And I know that I have given up a lot of things to get them here.
But when these questions come up, I have to simply sit and listen because in that moment it's about them. They are making their way into this experience of acculturation, an experience that I've never had. So it's my job to hear that process unfold.
A few nights later, when my stepdaughter said that her teacher had asked if she was going to live in the US full time or "half in half" US/Niger, and that she had responded half in half, I froze again. How should I react to something like this? And the answer is--despite the fact that half and half isn't remotely feasible, and that I felt guiltier than ever about that fact--I shouldn't. So I didn't, and then we continued on with our day.
Thanks Rebecca for this post and the honest within it. What does it mean to migrate? To belong? To cross the boundaries and borders both physical and imagined? How do we keep our humanity through it all? No answers. Only more questions.
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