The motto for the state of Iowa is Iowa, a great place to grow. As one born and raised in the state of Iowa, I completely agree with that assessment. Even so, it is not – or at least is was not – the best place to develop a sense of diversity. In college, I took the requisite Multicultural Education class. It was supposed to form me as a teacher, widen my horizons, make me ready to receive with loving arms all the little children of the world.Unfortunately, the professor’s ultimate idea of multicultural formation was singing “Feliz Navidad” at our final class and having team sharing of what our research uncovered regarding our assigned culture projects.
My real multicultural awareness began in another college class, where I learned to speak enough Spanish to converse (mas o menos) with someone else.
Sometime later, I met a woman from Panama. She was a teacher visiting U.S. schools through a two-week exchange program. She was at our school for just one day. It was shortly after the Panama Crisis and the overthrow of Noriega. In the faculty lunch room, the teachers all asked her about the U.S. military invasion... and wasn’t she relieved when our forces showed up. They let it go when they decided that she could barely speak English.
I realized later, when I talked to her in Spanish, that her impressions were not all grand and glorious about that particular U.S. assistance. When she realized that I was maxing out my Spanish, she switched over to English and finished unloading. I was the only one in the school who was permitted inside her deeper heart. All because I could talk with her in Spanish, and I was willing to talk, one woman-to-another, and not as American-to-Panamanian.
That happened a long time ago. I don’t remember very much Spanish anymore, but the other day at Walgreens, my daughter and I were waiting for her prescription to be filled and a little girl came running around the corner. She was speaking Spanish as she scanned the shelves. "¡Aquί, aquί!" she exclaimed. Her mother rounded the corner, and it became obvious very quickly that the little girl could read English, and she was translating for the mother.
After a few minutes, I approached the mom and asked her if she needed help. The woman looked at me and hesitated. I had spoken to her in Spanish, and that opened a door. I could tell that she was deciding whether or not to let me in. In Spanish, she told me that someone had a cold. I asked the age. Catorce – fourteen, she said. I asked if he had a fever. She didn’t seem to understand my rusty Spanish. I asked if he was hot. No. He was not hot. His nose – I made sniffle sounds. No. He did not have congestion.
I walked to the pharmacy window, but the mom stayed around the corner with her daughter. The pharmacist told me what to recommend, and I returned to the mother and helped her to find the medicine on the shelf.
That’s when my daughter’s antibiotic was ready for pick up. A few minutes later, when we were leaving, the little girl ran up to me. She turned that adorable little face up and smiling, she said, “My mom wants me to tell you thank you.”
“De nada,” I said. You are welcome. And the little girl skipped away.
Those were learning opportunities for me. But the best learning came when my sister adopted two girls from China and when my daughter gave birth to my African-American grandson. I will never forget the beautiful, tearful bond I felt with the other grandmother in the room as we both fell in love with this little boy and hugged and congratulated our children on their first born son.
It’s not about multicultural awareness and diversity education. It is about love and communication and a broader understanding of family. As Catholics, we are universal. We are a global family. We are from every nation, but we are one. We speak a common language, and it is the language of family. It is the language of love.
And the best place to learn how to love is in the context of Family.
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