Rogelio Gómez

Immigration -- Diversity

1ª Generación

Me llamo José.
Busco la vida a diario como muy humilde obrero
Con la sangre de mis manos y el sudor en mi sombrero
Pa’ que mi hijo José, de este país no sea extranjero

Le echo menos a mi gente, a mi pueblo, a mi país
Soy como un árbol en el viento, frágil, sin raíz
Al oír la música de mi tierra, me dan ganas de gritar
Y con cada rasgo de mi guitarra, de ponerme a llorar

De mi llanto vendrá, toda su felicidad
Y de mis sueños, logrará su realidad

2ª Generación

Papá, hoy me dicen en la escuela que me llamo Joe
Que tengo que hablar sólo inglés y olvidar lo que pasó
Mijo, así tendrá que ser y aunque el nombre te cambiarán
Nuestra sangre entre tus venas nunca te quitarán

El tiempo pasa y la transformación es completa
El padre sigue igual, pero el hijo cambia meta

He doesn’t understand me and my efforts to succeed
He thinks I’m motivated by the Joneses and by greed
I’ve tried to understand him but my patience doesn’t last
What was so good about pobreza and his pueblo and his past

I’m embarrassed by his accent and his quiet simple ways
And his music doesn’t move me as in my younger days
I’ve taught my son to make it on his own, like I have done
To rely on just his instincts and to strive for number one

3ª Generación

Siempre me siento solo, como un árbol, sin raíz
Como ser un extranjero en mi propio país
Al escuchar esa música, me dan ganas de gritar
Y con cada rasgo de mi guitarra, de ponerme a llorar

De mi abuelo yo me acuerdo siempre con amor
Que fue rico en su pobreza y humilde con honor
No lo comprendo y tal vez nunca lo sabré
Pero de hoy en adelante, me llamaré José

I had a dream last night.
I saw a brown man standing on a mountain top
looking down on humanity when
a tear escaped his eye and
rolled down the mountain side.
He shed a tear for his forefathers who
suffered the indignity of being foreigners
in their own country and another for those
who cross daily looking for a better life
in the barrios of America.

Next to him, I saw a Black man
standing on a mountain top
looking down on humanity when
a tear escaped his eyes and
rolled down the mountain side.
He shed a tear for his forefathers who
suffered the indignity of slavery and
another for his children being murdered
on the streets of every city in America.

Their tears met and formed a puddle
at the bottom of the mountain.

Next to him, I saw a red man
standing on a mountain top
looking down on humanity when
a tear escaped his eyes and
rolled down the mountain side.
He shed a tear for his forefathers who
wore the shirts of the Ghost Dancers
to stop the soldier’s bullets at Wounded Knee
and another for the empty life on
the reservations of America.

His tears met theirs and formed a pool
at the bottom of the mountain.

Across from him, I saw a Yellow man
standing on a mountain top
looking down on humanity
when a tear escaped his eyes
and rolled down the mountain side.
He shed a tear for his forefathers who
suffered the indignities of being held
by their own country in internment camps and
for those who crammed into boats to languish
off the coast of America.

His tears met the others and formed a pond
at the bottom of the mountain.

Beside him, I saw a White man
standing on a mountain top
looking down on humanity when
a tear escaped his eyes and
rolled down the mountain side.
He shed a tear for his forefathers who
suffered the indignity of religious oppression
and for his children who worked in the
sweatshops of the Industrial Revolution to
forge this great nation of ours.

His tears joined the others and formed a lake of
crystal clear water at the bottom of the mountains.

As they looked at each other with the knowledge they’d found
I awoke from my sleep with a clear understanding that
our tears have no color, and we share sacred ground.

Rogelio Gomez Jr. 2/4/94

WHAT HISPANIC AWARENESS MEANS TO ME

by Rogelio Gomez Jr.

I was born into several inclusive familias without having to go out of my way to join them.

I was born in Texas and took my first breath as a baby humano. I was now a member of the human family. A few days later, my birth certificate said I was an Americano. I was happy being an Americano until I was old enough to understand that in South Texas, with a name like Gomez, the law recognized me as a Mexicano. I was cool with that since everyone picking cotton alongside my family was also Mexicano and it was good to be with a group that was warm and referred to each other as comadre or compadre.

When I started school, I found out that because I was born in the great state of Texas, I also have the distinction of being a Tejano. At that stage in my life, it was great to be a Tejano because all my heroes were cowboys and what better place to be from if you wanted to be a cowboy. I went through school being a Humano/Americano/Mexicano/Tejano and it was great to belong to my growing family.

After graduation, I joined the military as many Humanos/Americanos/Mexicanos/Tejanos did and as a result of that, I became a Veterano. One of the benefits of being a Veterano was that I was able to attend the University in the early 70’s. If you were an Humano/Americano/Mexicano/Tejano/Veterano student in Califas in the early 70’s, you naturally became a Chicano. I liked being a Chicano and finding out about my roots in the first of many Mexican-American Studies classes taught by real Chicano professors.

After college, I settled into a government job. I was happy but still felt I lacked a connection so, being the Humano/Americano/Mexicano/Tejano/Veterano/Chicano that I had become; I joined LULAC and became a United League Latino. I was happy being a Latino and working to improve our community. Belonging to these great familias filled me with a sense of responsibility and pride.

A few years back, I found out that I am an Hispano as defined by the good ole U.S. of A. and that time had been set aside every fall to make others aware of my new and expanding family.

I did not choose to be an Humano/Americano/Mexicano/Tejano/Veterano/Chicano/Latino/Hispano nor any other label. The choice I had was in how these labels would affect and impact my life. I could reject them and say I’m a member of the human family only, as some have said, or I can embrace them as a gift of life and let my actions define who I am, as some have done.

Having lived, loved and celebrated every occasion is what I will remember when I finally become an Humano/Americano/Mexicano/Tejano/Veterano/Chicano/Latino/Hispano/Anciano.