As a first generation Cuban American, I have grown up hearing a wide variety of stories and opinions about this mysterious island that my family originated from. Some from my grandmother, who would talk about the farm that she was raised on called “La Juanita.” She always told me how she loved to ride horses. My mother, who grew up in Havana, would recount stories about her childhood. One story that stuck with me was about how my grandfather made a makeshift window that looked out onto the street so that my grandmother, who was a nervous Nellie, could watch my mother and her sister play outside. None of these stories was particularly negative or positive, pushing my opinion to one side or another. Then there was a flurry of stories about a young boy named Elian Gonzalez, who was about my age. Kids in my elementary school would say, “Oh you’re Cuban like that Elian Gonzalez boy.” And, people were talking about a man named Fidel Castro, and how he was an evil dictator. All of this coming at me from peers, family, friends, and media outlets left me very confused. As a child, it made me feel like I was weird because my family came from this country that “everyone” said negative things regarding it. I knew I was Cuban, but I had no idea how that played into my identity. At that point, I did not really know what to think or believe about Cuba or being Cuban American...
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