Rediscovering my strength once again

Anthony Batun reflects on the costs of stereotypes, dropping out of school, and learning to become the father his son deserves.

[Editor’s Note: This week’s essay comes from Anthony Batun, a new contributor to La Cuenta. If you’ve ever wanted to write for La Cuenta, please check out our guidelines here.]

I am picking myself up and rediscovering my strength once again.

My mistakes don’t define me. My name is Anthony Batun. I am picking myself up and rediscovering my strength once again.

I grew up Guatemalan, living with the complexities of skin color and internalized self-hate. I want to tell you how these feelings and the weight of family expectations pushed me to the bottom of life for years. I want to tell you how I learned to float and how it took me a long time to finally learn to rise.

“Light was right”

My parents did all they could to provide for my sister and I and give us a better future. And yet, growing up I witnessed significant ignorance and racism due to our skin color. I saw neighbors and random individuals treat my mother with more respect because she was light skinned compared to the rest of us, even if she had a thicker accent when she spoke. For instance, I can recall classmates' parents asking me to translate what they were saying for my father. My response was always the same, "Why? He knows English. He understands what you're saying." When my mother was around it was the opposite reaction: she was greeted and spoken to directly. Just because he was darker than me, they assumed my dad wasn't educated. In moments like those, I felt like I was living in Cherrie Moraga’s phrase, “light was right.” 

Surrounded by my white friends, I was always stereotyped and questioned if I didn’t follow certain trends. Why aren’t you sagging? Why are you skating? Are your parents proud? These were the constant questions I endured as I figured out who I was during my adolescence. Looking back, I now find these experiences humorously ironic. The majority of my friends were white, yet I was the one that graduated from high school and continued onto college. Seeing my friends drop out was both eye-opening and disappointing. 

Despite finishing school, one question always boggled my mind: Why am I trying so hard to be something while my white friends don’t care? I started to realize the privilege my friends carried over me, internalized to the point that they didn't even realize it. When I would ask them about their future plans, I would always receive responses like, “I’m just going to work with my dad.” or “I'm going to join the family business. I don’t need school.” I could never relate to that.

My parents were immigrants who came here from Guatemala. They traveled here in a truck in the early 1980s and instilled in me a mentality of always doing more for myself. The successes they had were never handed to them, they didn’t have a parent to rely on if they didn’t feel like trying. “Just join the family business” was never an option for me. As a Latino trying to make my parents proud and knowing there was no back-up plan, I felt like I had no choice but to push forward. It was never an easy journey. It still isn’t.

Self Destruction and Moving Forward

After graduating high school, I was very active in college and wanted to transfer to UCLA to major in anthropology. I’ve always been fascinated by culture and religion. My parents are extremely religious. I ended up separating my beliefs from theirs in my teens and I wanted to study the role of religion in Latino culture. 

Unfortunately, I started distracting myself with bad habits and influences. Almost two years into school, procrastination, drugs, and other addictions started consuming my time. My grades dropped and I was missing classes without a care. Over time, this behavior became self-destructive and I dropped out of school. I was a few credits away from transferring and achieving what many male Latinos don’t. Instead, I disappointed my parents. They saw their only son go from driven to druggie right before their eyes, it was a heavy guilt to carry.

I left home and started working various jobs as a delivery boy or in warehouses through a temp agency because it became a necessity to survive. Life had taken a dark turn for me. For a long time, I wanted to blame other people for my failures, but there was no one to blame but myself. Eventually, I learned to face my mistakes.

Picking myself up was a struggle but I found a new passion that put me back on track: the restaurant industry. I had shifted my focus from drugs to cooking. I cultivated a passion for a skill that I never knew I possessed. In fact, I didn’t feel it was allowed. As a child, cooking always spoke to me but I never saw a future with it.

Growing up Latino, machismo culture molded men into thinking cooking was only a role for women. One of my uncles was very vocal about this at a family gathering years ago. Grabbing my nephew from his mother’s arms to take him to another room, he said, “La cocina no es para hombres, solo las mujeres cocinan.”¹ Even if I didn’t believe such sentiments, I also knew I was not supposed to disappoint my family at such a young age. Despite these stereotypes, I learned more in my years in the kitchen than I ever imagined. The words of the late Anthony Bourdain always spoke to me: “Food is everything we are. It’s an extension of nationalist feeling, ethnic feeling, your personal history, your province, your region, your tribe, your Grandma.”

After hitting rock bottom, I discovered myself once more. I was first a dishwasher before working my way up to serving as a sous chef. I worked alongside some of the most talented people I’ve ever encountered and learned so much. Finally, I had found a home. For the first time, I was financially stable. To top it off, I had been blessed with a son. Before he was born, I was set on being the main source of income for my family. However, the closer it got to my son’s birth, the more reality started to hit me. 

A New Kind of Addiction

I was working 16 hours a day at the restaurant, sometimes 7 days a week. It was an addiction. I was addicted to knowledge and the passion I found in the kitchen each day. However, I was realizing that this career meant I would be away from my son. A new passion was being cultivated, and that was the love for my son. After he was born, I spent the first year of his life toiling in the kitchen. I would work all day, get home at 3 a.m., and repeat the cycle all over again. 

The mornings were the only time I had with my son. If I didn’t wake up early, I would miss this limited window. Months went by and I was becoming upset with myself, feeling like I wasn’t being a father. After 8 months, I approached my chef de cuisine (CDC) and expressed my concerns. He was understanding but he was also running a business. I had to make a huge decision: either spend time raising my son or work a job I loved. No in between. As my CDC put it, this was “the name of the game.” Of course, I already knew my answer. 

After 8 years of picking myself up, discovering skills, and making a career, it was time to step away. Part of me knows that passion in me will resurface in due time.

Today, my son is 5 years old. He’s the smartest kid in his class and my main drive in life. I am currently doing freelance web and graphic design. Leaving the restaurant industry, I found myself discovering employment all over again but with a harsh reality. A degree will take you further than your experience. I’ve been lucky enough to find gigs and provide, but having a child really makes you plan for your family’s future.

I dropped out of school 12 years ago, drug addicted and lost. I returned this year to prove to myself what I’m capable of as I complete dual degrees in biochemistry and culinary arts. I’m rediscovering a new version of me–Anthony Batun. I have a new respect for education and people who dedicated themselves to it. As a father, education is the path that I am choosing to take this time around. With this drive and focus, I plan to have my BA and lead and provide for my son.

Propina

Anthony offers the song “God’s Bathroom Floor” by Atmosphere as this week’s propina. Enjoy:

We’ll see you next week.

1. “The kitchen is not for men, only women cook.”