Good post. I'll add my experience to this thread as well.
My family and I (four of us) moved to Southern California from Europe. We immigrated here legally, and it took a lot of waiting, medical exams, doctor
visits, and tests of other sorts to come to this country. It took us five years to become citizens.
Before we even left Europe everyone warned us not to end up in Los Angeles, because the crime there was bad. Where do you think the social worker
dropped us off? Garden Grove, somewhat close to L.A.
I was 12 years old at the time. I remember sitting in her car, going down the freeway and looking at the palm trees. I never saw palm trees growing in
the city before and was amazed. Next stop was our one bedroom apartment. We got there and it was dark. The social worker led us to the door. Her key
didn't work, so she led us in through the window. Great first sign when you have to break into your own apartment.
She warned us that if we were going to do the laundry we should watch it carefully, because people here stole other people's clothes right out of the
dryer. She also warned us about a certain type of bug we should now get used to,... roaches. I woke up the next morning and found myself in a filthy
apartment sleeping on a mattress in the middle of the room. I looked around and instantly became depressed. I wondered why we came here at all. In
fact I think I started crying and telling my parents that I wanted to go back to Europe. This place was disgusting. My parents told me to be quiet,
cleaned the apartment to the best of their abilities, and told us it was time to start learning English.
My next lesson was the outside. The street was full of apartment buildings. They were fairly ugly in my opinion, and a lot of them were trashed.
Nearly everyone spoke Spanish, a few were Vietnamese. We never encountered Mexicans before, so we didn't really have any opinions on them just yet.
We had purchased some bicycles to get around town. My parents used them to go to English class every night so that they would learn the language. Both
bicycles were stolen one night, although they were locked up. We bought a couple more. I went to the grocery store to pick something up. I locked my
bike at the bike rack, went in, spent literally less than five minutes inside, and by the time I came outside my bike was gone. Only the cut lock
remained on the ground. I saw three Mexican guys leaning up against the wall nearby. I asked them if they had seen who took my bike, and where he/she
went. They looked at me, shook their heads and said they didn't speak English.
I was distraught. I couldn't believe that we had lost the third bike in a month. These guys saw me drive the bike in, and as they were standing there
the whole time, facing the bike rack, it was clear that they must have seen something. They let someone steal a bike from a 12 year old. Disgusting! I
came from a place where you could leave your bike in the middle of the street and no one would take it. If anything they'd pick the bike up and take
it into your yard!
Next was school. I was placed into 6th grade to make it easier for me to integrate. When I came to class I was one out of two white kids in the class.
Everyone else was Hispanic. They all spoke Spanish with each other. As we were reading from our text books, suddenly the teacher called on someone who
didn't speak any English. This boy had his text book in front of him and began reading...IN SPANISH!!! His text book was in Spanish while other kids
had an English text book. I was very surprised that this was happening. Even at the age of 12 I knew he'd never learn English if he was allowed to
read out of a Spanish text book in an American classroom.
There were a couple of other kids who also had the Spanish text books.
During breaks the kids thought it was a lot of fun to have me read out of their Spanish books, because although I had no idea what I was reading, I
was pronouncing the words closely to how they were supposed to be pronounced. They were trying to teach me to speak Spanish.
I was placed in an ESL class with other Spanish-speaking students. We were learning how to speak English. I was making pretty good progress, but the
other kids were not. In fact after a year and a half of ESL it was determined that I no longer needed it, because I was now fluent. The other kids in
class with me still spoke nearly no English at all! I couldn't understand how that was possible. They were in ESL just as long as I was, yet they
still couldn't communicate in English. I'll make a brief mention that this new American school was WAYYY behind the European school I came from. If
I had known English I would have been terribly bored. Learning English was the only thing giving me a challenge and keeping me from boredom.
We lived in Garden Grove for about a year and a half. During that time we were introduced to theft and drive-by shootings. We had all sorts of things
stolen, including clothes. I had no idea what a "drive-by" was until we moved to America. I remember hearing the gun fire weekly, and one of those
times the bullets sprayed our building. The bullets went through the walls of a Mexican family's apartment, nearly killing their newborn. They were
friends of ours while we lived there.
To tell you what kind of effect this neighborhood had on me,... For Halloween one year I dressed up as a dead gang member!
I remember all the
kids wanted a Raiders jacket. You weren't cool if you didn't have one, so of course I wanted one too. My parents didn't get me one. I listened to
gangster rap, and I liked my pants baggy. My parent's weren't fond of that, so they controlled what I wore every day. I didn't get as far as the
five inch bangs full of hairspray, but man did I want em in order to fit in! You had to look and act "tough" in order to survive.
Back then I didn't know anything about illegal immigration, but looking back at it now I'm sure there were plenty of illegals living on that street.
There was so much crime! I was afraid to walk down the street even during the day. I never had that problem in Europe.
So, that was my introduction into the Hispanic neighborhood. Much of Southern California might as well be called Mexico II., especially Downtown L.A.
I'd hate to get lost there.
CONTINUED in next post...