At my mom’s house, the dinner table has never felt like a place for conversation.
When I was in high school, I would be home at 3:30 p.m. after getting dropped off by the bus. I would clean the kitchen or living room, then watch something on the television and wait for my mom and younger sisters to arrive two hours later.
When I heard my mom’s car pull into the driveway, I knew they had arrived. My sisters would bang on the door and yell for me to open it and let them in. Once I opened the door, they would push right past me to take off their shoes and backpacks, and run to the room to play, or claim the remote control for the living room TV.
My mom never made an appearance until maybe a minute after my sisters came in. She would first place all her belongings on the edge of the dinner table, then would go off to take a shower. This was her routine after coming back from work.
When she finished showering, she would often ask my sisters and I what we would like to eat as she went to the kitchen. Sometimes, before I got back from school, my mom would text and ask me to take something out of the fridge to thaw, or to boil beans before she arrived home.
Once dinner was made, and everyone had their plate, we would all cram in to fit at the dining table. My sisters would eagerly eat their plates until they were full, and the first to finish would get to watch TV. My mom and I would often be the only ones left at the table.
Silence. My mom hardly spoke while she ate, but as I grew older, I wanted to connect with her; however, the dinner table wasn’t the place.
Since she didn’t know English very well, the only way I could communicate with her was by speaking in Spanish. I felt shy attempting to talk to my mom in my underdeveloped Spanish and was worried about saying the wrong thing.
One night, my sisters and I were watching a Korean drama in Spanish, and my mom passed by. As she glanced at the screen, she was intrigued by what we were watching. I suppose she enjoyed the show and became invested in it enough to sit and watch with us at the time.
I was shocked by her interest in the shows my sister and I often watched, as they were in Korean with subtitles. Everything on the screen stayed the same, the audio was the only differing factor.
Watching shows in Spanish was also not a negative thing for me, as it provided me with more exposure to Spanish in my daily life.
On the other hand, not every show on Netflix is dubbed in Spanish. New Netflix shows can take a while to get re-recorded in Spanish. Sometimes, if a show performs well, the platform may add a Spanish dub, but this doesn’t happen often.
The obvious answer to this problem is to watch the available Spanish shows, but this involves watching a whole different show. Not all shows and movies are made the same, they are all created uniquely.
Some shows are also adapted into other languages, but this is contingent on sufficient public interest.
I understand factors such as accessibility, representation and opportunities come slowly. Problems don’t get fixed overnight, and spending time on trivial matters is often put aside.
Yet, I know how significant it is when someone recognizes small problems which can have a big impact.
I’d like to have more shows in Spanish dub so I can share a laugh, a cry, or a smile with my mom while we watch a show together in the living room.
This isn’t a plea for more shows with Spanish dub on streaming platforms, although it would be appreciated.
I am sure there are other parents who are struggling to connect with their own children, like how my mom and I were. It may not be immediately apparent, but even small moments like watching TV can go a long way.
