I always wonder what my life would have been like in Mexico if I had not moved to the United States.

Would I be graduating from a four-year college in Guadalajara, just like my best friends, or would I be married by now like my sixteen-year-old cousin? There is no other question that bugs me more than the “what if?”

If my family had stayed in Mexico, my parents probably would not have been as strict there as they have been here in the U.S. Here they saw many of my Mexican neighbors become single mothers at an early age and they probably thought that people were too liberal.

After my sophomore year in high school, I realized that being the oldest in my family and the daughter of traditional Mexican parents was not going to be easy.

I realized how hard it was going to be the first time I asked my parents for permission to go to my prom. When I asked them, my dad refused to let me go when he found out that I was going with a guy, that the guy was going to pick me up, and that the dance was going to be in a hotel in Santa Barbara forty minutes away from my house.

“I don’t know,” he said, ignoring me. His answer was definitely a no. I stared at him trying to figure out why he would not let me go. I was afraid to try to convince him.
For a moment, I wondered what century my dad lived in.

I remembered that he went to school and played soccer secretly because my grandpa would not allow it. Since he was not allowed to do what a kid his age should do, why was I not either?

My mom explained that it was hard for my dad to let me go to a dance away from home with someone they did not know. But it was even harder because it did not seem right to him that a girl would be out late at night with a guy.

How was I going to tell my date that my dad did not let me go? I had to tell my date the truth, but I was too chicken to let people know my dad did not let me go.

I decided to not tell anyone.

My mom told me to get my dress, heels and everything I needed. “I’ll try to convince your dad,” she said. She gave me hope.

I was exited at the prospect of going to my first high school dance. But I was edgy before my mom spoke to him. What was I going to do if my mom could not convince my dad?

The day arrived. I was ready to be picked up. My mom had not convinced my dad.

Minutes before my date came to pick me up, my mom finally convinced my dad. I was not excited anymore. My dad gave me permission, but with conditions.

My dad allowed me to go to the dance only for two hours, and my parents were going to
pick me up. We went to dinner and time flew. I was constantly looking at the clock and couldn’t enjoy my dinner.

When we got to the dance, everything was beyond my expectations. The decorations were beautiful and the dessert was indescribable.

Indescribable was what I felt at the moment I saw my mom approaching me on the dance floor. I was not ready to leave. It was even more embarrassing because the group I went to the dance with were all seniors, and I was the only sophomore. I felt like a child.

Now that I am older, I understand how hard it was for my parents to adjust to the customs of a different country. Years have passed and even though their culture is still the same, the way they approach my siblings’ social life is completely different. My youngest sister is allowed to go to homecoming, both game and dance, until they finish.

Eight years ago I was maybe allowed to attend one and I was lucky if I could stay until it was over.

I probably should have been more open and explained to my dad the differences from high school here and in Mexico. He probably would have understood.

What if I was a boy? Would I have had all the privileges my youngest siblings now have? What if we would have stayed in Mexico, would they have been so strict?

I still question myself. What if?

– Ruby Limon is a Journalism 271 student