Immigration and/or assimilation in my family are two concepts I have spent very little time contemplating.  The reason for this is simple – I am a fourth generation Puerto-Rican American whose family has been in the United States for nearly 70 years.  Although Puerto Ricans do not technically qualify as immigrants, the trip three of my grandparents (and one great-grandparent) made to New York City certainly qualifies as a great journey.  The fourth grandparent, my maternal grandfather, was a Sicilian immigrant, but I sooner consider myself to be Puerto Rican.  My maternal great-grandmother made the original journey that placed the first member of my family in the United States.

My grandmother was seven years old living in Guyama, Puerto RIco, with only her mother when my great grandmother made the decision to come to New York.  It was only the two of them – my great-grandmother was a good seamstress and that was what kept them relatively stable.  She had split up from her husband and decided that she was going to find a better place for my grandmother to grow up in.  Their family had friendly correspondents in New York, the Bronx more specifically, and they told her that a seamstress could do well in their area.  So, my great grandmother saved up money over a period of time and was able to purchase fare for herself to travel to New York.  Originally, she could only afford her fare, so she left my grandmother with my great-grandmother’s sister until she later returned for her in 1945.  The two settled in the Bronx as they together learned English and went to work/school.  Luckily Spanish wasn’t the least common language in New York City, so their assimilation could have been harder than it was.

My grandmother grew up in the Bronx and moved in with her husband, my Italian-immigrant grandfather, in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.  He supported her with his bread business and together they had my mother as one of five children.  At the same time my mother was growing up in Bay Ridge, my father was doing the same in the same place.  My father, his sister, and my paternal Puerto Rican-immigrant grandparents also lived in Bay Ridge at this time.

So, it has been a very long time since my immediate family has lived in another country.  Since then, we have unfortunately preserved very little of our original culture; however, we have largely embraced the culture of America.  My paternal grandfather has been a huge Elvis Presley fan since his rise to fame, and my maternal grandmother has loved American television shows such as I Love Lucy since their original air dates.  Only one member of my entire extended family (ending with first cousins) still speaks Spanish.  I’ve decided that this is neither something “good” nor “bad,” it simply is…although I do wish I had the opportunity to learn such a useful language when I was younger.  At the same time, I am very thankful I am not constantly being pulled between two cultural identities. Essentially, I am very happy to be a fourth generation American.