Growing up, I was fortunate to have my abuelitos as caretakers while my parents went to work. Every day my grandfather would pick me up from school and take me to his and my grandmother's house in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico, the border city across from my hometown of El Paso, Texas.

Although it was common for Spanish-speaking students to enroll in bilingual classes, my parents didn't want me to; they wanted me to fully absorb and understand the English language.

My grandfather, however, decided to take it upon himself to teach me how to read and write in Spanish and further embrace my cultural roots through music and literature. I have fond memories of him patiently showing me how to pronounce certain words while reading children's short stories or the newspaper and helping me write love letters to my mom.

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