Personal Narrative: My Guatemalan Family

With an abrupt rattle and jerk, I was interrupted from my two-and-a-half hour uncomfortable van ride nap. Immediately, my nostrils were flooded with tropical coconuts, bananas, and citruses of nearby vendors and shacks. Drowned out by the rambunctious engines of motorcycle taxis were the passionate greetings of townspeople and the entire community. When I stepped out of the van, the horizon was noticeably stuffed with constant greenery and the humidity was so thick that I could almost chew it. The neighborhood seemed shabby and run-down, yet everyone smiled and treated one another like a big family. Through warm bear hugs and embraces, my four siblings and I had become a part of that Guatemalan family that we had only before had contact through pictures. I immediately recognized my grandma and grandpa from the many stories I was recounted by my parents, and I was introduced to my newly met cousins, who would become my friends for the next two weeks.

Unlike my white friends, however, I never had much direct family come over for Thanksgiving or Christmas celebrations. After all, I was the child of two immigrants, so most of my family was 3000 or more miles away. My family also had the unique tradition of playing soccer while the food was being prepared. I think much of this at first, but my outlook on soccer had taken a new shape. Soccer no longer represented me being a sore loser, but it united customs and cultures traversing endless miles. Soccer now represented all the beauty of Guatemala itself and all the people in it. Soccer represented those new relationships made and how even across endless miles can we come together for a simple sport. And although I still am not the best at soccer, I do not mind watching a friendly soccer match between the USA and Guatemala, so I can call Coco and laugh about our competitive