A heart warming and somewhat heart breaking story about a child of immigrants who is the family translator. Sometimes a child, other times managing the whole family and all their problems. DP
For Perla Jimenez, being the interpreter for her family means straddling worlds old and new, childish and grown up
By Jenny Deam, Denver Post Staff Writer
Denver Post : Twilight is quickly turning to darkness along West Cedar Avenue. Moving a family of six from house to car to grocery store is rarely simple and never swift.
"Vámonos Vámonos!" Let's go. Let's go!
Perla Jimenez has assumed the universal teenage position, slumped in the back of her mom's Oldsmobile station wagon, pretending her family does not exist. Sometimes she can't decide if they amuse or embarrass her more.
Still, tonight she is happy. It's been a pretty good birthday so far. Fifteen is going to be OK.
Up front her mother has tuned to ranchera music, turning up the volume on those corny, Spanish love songs. Perla slaps on headphones and fiddles with her new lilac-colored radio/CD player in search of hip-hop.
In the past year Perla has caught up with her mom in height. At 5 feet, 4 inches, they stand shoulder to shoulder. They wear their hair the same.
They swap clothes. They swap roles.
Be sure to read the rest of this story! This is only a small part of it.
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