Moving To a Spanish Speaking Town

Abbeygal Valenzuela, Beyond the System Writing Contest

I grew up in Hanford and moved frequently between various apartments, shifting back and forth between Arkansas and California. This instability made it challenging to consistently attend school, especially since my biological parents did not emphasize the importance of education. As a result, I missed out on attending Pre-K and Kindergarten. During that time, I lacked support and guidance, there was no one to encourage me to go to school or do my best. Consequently, I struggled with reading and spelling. This experience has greatly influenced my perspective on reading and writing.

At the age of six, I entered the foster care system with my two older brothers, Dominic, who was seven, and David, who was either thirteen or fourteen. To our luck, we were placed in a home quite quickly; it’s uncommon for siblings to be placed together, let alone three. The day we arrived at our new home was a different experience entirely. 

To keep it brief, I remember sitting in homeroom one day, enjoying a donut  — not a chocolate one, as I wasn't fond of chocolate, perhaps a glazed donut instead. Suddenly, the school speakers announced, “Dominic, Abbeygal, and David Barron, please come to the office.”

I took a while to get to the office, I wanted to finish my donut. When I got to the office my brothers were already there. David was making the same face he always did: brows furred with an odd amount of focus into a random space on the wall; meanwhile, Dominic seemed jumpy, ready to move. Sitting next to my brothers was a young lady with red hair and a bright smile. Next to her was a man dressed in a police uniform. 

“Please come with us,” the officer urged.

I sat there emotionless, confused. Should I go with them? My mom had always advised me to never go with strangers; yet, they were police officers, what were we supposed to do? We were scared, but David stepped forward to reassure us, telling us he wouldn’t let anything happen. Although hesitant, we followed the officers outside into a filled parking lot towards a van. They instructed us to get into the van, telling us to climb into the back row of seats. My heart started pounding, I was unsure if I should go with them. Thinking of my mom's advice I turned around and started running. As I ran  David was chasing me and yelling my name. Eventually, I got tired and my brother caught up to me. He began telling me that we should go with them, once again reassuring me that everything would be alright. I caved in and trusted him, following him back to the van and heading inside with my two brothers, squeezing into the back seats. 

Then we started a long road trip — at least in my six-year-old mind it was long, in reality though, it was only about an hour. Finally, we came to a stop. No one spoke on the car ride there. None of us moved. To my delight, we stopped in front of this pink house. I’ve always loved the color pink! 

“Do you guys like sleepovers?” The young lady broke the silence. 

“Yes!!” I exclaimed! 

“Well, this is kind of like a sleepover!” she smiled.

Truthfully, I don't remember what happened —  the rest was a blur —  but, we were inside the pink house. I began to explore: inside was brown, with brown couches up against the window and a TV on the wall. There was a hallway leading to who knows what (I later discovered it led to the kitchen). As we kept walking, I noticed three people on the brown couch. It was an ugly couch. The people looked… Alright. Except for the lady there, because she looked like my stepmom: My stepmom didn't like me, and frankly,  I didn't like her. Yet, she was pretty, and I eventually learned she wasn’t my stepmom, but rather the woman I would learn to call mom. Next to her, was a scary man, and a little girl in between, which I assumed was their daughter. She didn't look over the age of four. We sat at this pink small princess table. My brothers hated it, but I loved it immediately. As the adults started talking gibberish (Spanish), the little girl walked up to me and handed me a doll. 

“Quieres jugar,” she asked nervously 

Weird; she also spoke gibberish. When I didn't reply, she turned and quickly ran back to her parents. I thought the doll was pretty. I started playing with it and soon the little girl returned with more of her toys to play with. Although my brothers were there, I felt alone with this little girl, honed in as we played together, time quickly passing. About an hour later, I noticed or what felt like an hour, the people left. 

Soon, the sleepover had turned into weeks, even months. Although this was confusing at the time, I didn't mind it as I and the little girl played every day. I soon came to learn her name was Galilea, Gali for short, and the more we played together, the more we picked up each other's words. Although I couldn't speak her language or understand it, I could understand her.

During this time,  I started attending school nearby. My life became a routine: go to school, go home to a family that spoke gibberish, do some homework, play, eat, and play some more. Soon my caretakers began picking up English, and we started communicating more. Although I had missed my mom and old friends, I began to like my new life, and every day I grew more and more accustomed to it. The little girl and I played every day! Well, except for the days when I had school. That’s right, School. They made me go to school. The town was small, so the drive to school was exactly five minutes and seconds. You can make it from one side of town to the other in ten minutes or less. I went to school every day.  And came home to a gibberish-speaking family. They fed me and cared for me, and I talked with my brothers and played with their daughter. Over the next few weeks, they all started to speak a little more English, and living there got easier. But I liked my new life. 

In my old life when I had lived with my biological mother, me and my brothers often be left alone in the house. We would miss school. To sum it up, it wasn't a good environment; I remember the constant effort my new mother would put forth to teach me despite her struggle in speaking my language: she'd sit me down and try teaching me how to pronounce and spell words correctly, boosting my vocabulary — she would always try cheering me up when I felt insecure about my struggles. In seeing all her effort, I was moved to try harder in school. Although it wasn't easy I had set new goals for myself, desiring to make my family proud. 

My new family changed my perspective on reading and writing. I began to not look at reading or writing as a monotonous task: I started reading more often, and I even took up journaling to convey my thoughts on paper. I began to view literature as a form of expression and an escape from all the confusion in my life, and I found comfort in it. As Mortimer Adler wrote, “A marked copy is kind of an intellectual fairy, and lending it is almost like giving your mind away” (4 Adler). To me, reading offers an opportunity for me to forget the stress in my life, giving my mind away to the world created by the texts.

Along with that, a quote by Cox makes me remember how I always compared myself to my brother Dominic. For some reason, I always felt like I was competing with my brother, maybe because we were so close in age.  He was so much better at everything related to school. He was born smart or something because he never struggled like I did. I always felt so dumb, he would get student of the year every single year. No matter how hard I tried I never got it. He would have the highest G.P.A. and the highest reading level. Thinking about this made it much more difficult for me than what it was, a quote by Cox "I made it that hard and it wasn't that hard" (29). Makes me think we can all do well in school if we try hard enough, we're our biggest roadblocks sometimes. Now we're older and doing our separate things, he helps me a lot with schoolwork. 

Looking back my parents were proud of me no matter what grade I got. They supported me for everything I did, and I love them for that.

My family learned English and I learned Spanish, my brothers though, still struggle with it. I do still ask Dominic to help me with my schoolwork but it's hard sometimes because he has his schoolwork to do. 

To sum up everything, I grew up in a Spanish-speaking environment, yet I spoke English. Learning things was difficult for me when I was in Hanford. Moving to a new town made things even more difficult, but over time things got easier. After all, I am in college now! Now the town we live in, well I guess “city” is the proper term for it, is much bigger! And it's bilingual. I work at a coffee shop here and not many people come in speaking Spanish, but when they do I'm glad I'm the only one who understands because that means they need me. It’s in moments like that that I appreciate learning two languages.

 

Read more stories from the Beyond the System Writing Contest here.