Swinging back and forth, a five-year-old child plays innocently on the monkey bars thinking only of what's for lunch. I'm sure all of you can remember blissfully innocent times like these. Everything seemed so much simpler. The stresses of finding jobs, paying bills, and handling life's other complexities were nonexistent. When you really look back, that image of innocence is a more crucial time than you previously thought. It was during times like these that I, like others before me, developed into the man I am today. The mind of a young person is malleable; one continues growing and redefining oneself all the way through adolescence and beyond. Perhaps the largest obstacle to be conquered during childhood is the discovery of cultural identity. At least for me, this issue has dominated my life. Being the son of a Mexican mother and a British father, finding my place in society has been a struggle.

With windswept beaches, metropolitan charm, and three hundred sixty-five days of sunshine, my hometown of Naples, Florida is one step short of being anyone's idea of paradise. It is your cliché of a resort town. Due to its many employment opportunities, the diversity of its residents is comparable to that of large cities. The proximity to Miami and the Caribbean has dotted the area with transplantees of every race and ethnicity. Hispanics from all across Latin America reside there along with a hodgepodge of peoples from the Lesser Antilles. The mixed Anglo-Americans of Naples are also unique in their own right. They originate from the Northeast and Midwest, bringing with them regional customs and habits that blend together. I have met people who grew up in Chicago but speak with a southern accent due to the length of their residence in Florida. Living in such a place has proved to be more of a challenge for me than you might think.

Like any other child, I grew up playing with dinosaurs, digging in the sand box, and exploring the world with the graceful eyes of innocence. It wasn't the basic desires and behavior that set me apart from other children, but rather the customs that I had acquired through my parents. I did not know many other children who could interchange Spanish slang with British idioms. Tea times and partaking in Latino cultural dances were both a part of my childhood. At school, I interacted with predominantly Anglo-American children. In contrast, my friends outside school could fall into one of two categories. They were either of Cuban or Mexican descent. During the week I spoke English, and on Saturday and Sunday, Spanish was my tongue. Oblivious to the unique nature that I had developed, my life seemed normal to me.

Like all things in life, change was about to occur. As I matured, the distinct worlds of home and school began to merge; no longer could I differentiate between the two. I attended a predominantly Caucasian preparatory high school where the idea of financial limitations was nonexistent. This was a far cry from the type of life my mother and her family had lived. For much of her youth, the stresses of being a migrant laborer occupied her life. My father had also come from a humble background. Thus, I was raised with the work ethic being the most cherished of principles. For many at school, this value was foreign.

Unfortunately, in Naples ethnicity and financial status are usually one and the same. The distinctions between affluence and poverty are obvious between the children of Caucasian families and those of minority heritages. I'm not saying that Naples is a city stuck in the pre-civil rights era, but rather it's a community where the service industry dominates the economy and immigrants are the ones who keep it operating. There are the haves and have-nots. Many Caucasian families move to Naples already financially stable whereas minorities come to find work.

The pressure I experienced in my search for cultural identity did not come from the clash of economic backgrounds but rather the alliances class wars seem to form. The children of the wealthy Caucasian families indulged in the latest fashions, rock music, and other aspects of beach culture. Those of Latino, African American, or Caribbean heritage often found themselves working as soon as they turned fourteen, listening to rap, reggae, and Latin music, and just trying to stay out of trouble. This rift extended even to parties and lunchroom dining tables. There just wasn't any association between the two. For me, this proved a dire predicament. My background entailed partaking in both sets of customs, and I wasn't going to allow anyone to prevent me from doing so.

So here I find myself. I've grown up reflecting both worlds. The habits and customs that I possess are a blend of cultures. On one side, my father's British tendencies influence me, and then there's my mother. In a city like mine, people often label one another. The distinctions between cultures make it easy for them to just write each other off. Whites and minorities alike simply dismiss one another, and when an individual like me exists, eyebrows are raised.

The people I had once played with as an innocent child were changing drastically in the way they acted and how they perceived the world. The transition into high school had transformed them into new people. I watched my Latino and Caucasian friends fall into the stereotypes of their respective ethnic groups. To my dismay, both sides tugged at me to take a step. I couldn't just decide who I wanted to be! No one seemed to grasp the situation I was in. Frustration was inevitable throughout the entire process. It is inconceivable to ask a person to change themselves simply for the superficial desire of another. High school is a difficult enough time without others pressuring you to make decisions that you know are false and not true to your nature.

As I look back now, I see why those around me felt so uncomfortable with my familiarity with both Latino and British cultures. Life for a teenager is a constant battle for acceptance. For me to stand alone in my cultural quest was a reminder of exclusion. My existence spotlighted this trepidation of being alone, thus I was a threat. I was pushed to decide my cultural identity solely for the benefit of others.

Let us not forget that Naples, Florida is still in the South. Even with the fancy homes, diverse population, and tropical climate, the habits of old exist. I experienced prejudice, not outright but rather in the subtlety of how people perceived me. Often when strangers would discover that I had a strong Latino heritage, they were taken aback. From my language and demeanor they assumed that I was solely of Anglo descent. In my community, Mexicans are viewed as fit only for manual labor. To hear that I had aspirations of pursuing a career in business and politics defied this ignorant belief. If you're Hispanic or African American, the police will stop and question your presence in a high class part of town. People stare as you enter a store, and every now and then you might be ignored or denied some sort of service. With this type of pressure all around me, it would have been easy to denounce my Latino heritage for the sake of social acceptance. I could never do such a thing, for it is blasphemy to turn your back on what has given you life.

My peers nonetheless continued with their crusade to squash my multicultural habits. In their search for personal identity, they ostracized me. The Hispanic community criticized me for my "gringo" accent and "White" tendencies, and the Anglo-Americans alienated me for my taste in Latino food, music, and use of Latino mannerisms. It felt as if I couldn't win. What did the world want from me? Just like everyone else, I simply lived my life taking it a day at a time. Why did I have to choose?  

All this time, a battle waged on in my head. I began to question what and who I was. There was never an answer, but rather solemn silence. My parents could offer me no help besides their love, for they would never be in my position. The college process helped to open my eyes. My future was to be whatever I made of it. The only limitations were those that I placed upon myself. All the strife and confusion finally vanished in one finite moment while lying on my bed. Starring up at the ceiling, I thought, "Does it really matter what culture I'm a part of? The man I am is a testament to my own personal identity and not the group with which I align myself." That was the answer I needed. My position in society hasn't changed but I now accept myself for who I am. There will always be those who want me to be something I'm not, but I don't live for them.

My strength in the multicultural identity I have come to terms with lies in the fact that I am a part of America's future. As the world shrinks, cultures will merge and the people that partake in them will unite. It is only a matter of time before the face of the United States is radically altered. For me to bear shame would be detrimental not only to myself but also to those who will bear the privilege to be multicultural too. The life I live is a test of the unknown. We shall see if America is ready to accept the future that is quickly approaching.