The First-generation Immigrant in America Essay -- Minorities Equality

My grandma has a specific look in her eyes when something is upsetting her: she gazes off an irregular way with a thoughtful, somewhat distracted demeanor all over, as though she sees something all of us can’t see, knows something that we don’t know. It is around these times, and these minutes alone, that she appears to be far off from us, similar to a peaceful spectator viewing from far off, her body present yet her psyche and heart in a spot no one but she can visit. She never says it, yet I know, and somewhere inside, I figure they do also. She needs to be a piece of our reality. She needs us to be a piece of hers. In any case, we don’t have a place. Not any longer. Not my brothersâ€I don’t think they could possibly do. Perhaps I didâ€once, quite a while prior, however I can’t recall any longer. I love my grandma. She realizes that. I realize she does, regardless of whether I’m always unable to pass on it enough to her in words. The scene is consistently the equivalent: the three of us sitting in a room together, talking. I see her from the edge of my eye, looking for one moment or two, yet in every case sufficiently long to see the expression all over, the articulation I’ve become so agonizingly acquainted with throughout the years. I am compelled to dismiss; the discussion resumes. She is a couple of feet from us. She hears everything, and sees nothing with the exception of what she can assemble from the demeanors on our countenances, the tone of our voices. She claims not to be tried, grinning at us and adding arbitrary inquiries or remarks in Chineseâ€a language I was raised to communicate in, a language I’ve gradually overlooked throughout the years, a language that is presently mine just by blood. It is a sincere yet typically vain endeavor to get through the undetectable boundary that isolates her from us, and notwithstanding the entirety of her endeavors to conceal it, that pitiful, contem... ...feeble, when their echoes blur, and at that time, I will alert to a dull, void quiet. Furthermore, the quietness will be stunning. * La Gringa: Derogatory designation used to deride a Puerto Rican young lady who needs to resemble a blonde North American. Works Cited Andalzã ºa, Gloria. â€Å"How to Tame a Wild Tongue.† Encounters: Essays for Exploration and Inquiry. second ed. Ed. Pat C. Hoy II and Robert DiYanni. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2000. 93-101. Cofer, Judith Ortiz. â€Å"Silent Dancing.† Encounters: Essays for Exploration and Inquiry. second ed. Ed. Pat C. Hoy II and Robert DiYanni. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2000. 145-51. â€Å"History.† The Latino/an Education Network Service.14 Oct. 2002.<http://palante.org/02History.htm>. Tan, Amy. â€Å"Mother Tongue.† Encounters: Essays for Exploration and Inquiry. second ed. Ed. Pat C. Hoy II and Robert DiYanni. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2000. 603-07.