By Bridgette Estrada, October 13, 2026
Growing up, I was taught by my mom, tias and teachers that speaking two languages was an advantage. I could speak English at school and Spanish at home. I learned to navigate two languages and, with them, two cultures.
Somewhere along the way, however, speaking two languages began to feel more like a burden.
First-generation Mexican Americans whose Spanish is imperfect are increasingly reduced to a label: “no sabo kids.” In his research, “Mediated Bricolage and the Sociolinguistic Co-Construction of No Sabo Kids,” Salvatore Callesano examines how the label is used to ridicule Spanish speakers for their linguistic shortcomings.
The phrase makes fun of Spanish speakers who make grammatical mistakes, speak with an American accent or simply do not speak Spanish as fluently as someone raised in a Spanish-speaking country. Callesano also examines how being perceived as a “no sabo kid” can imply someone is a diluted version of the original.
As a first-generation Mexican American, I am sick and tired of hearing our own people use our Spanish proficiency and birthplace to determine how Mexican we are.
Many of us were born and educated in the U.S. English surrounds us at school, at work and throughout our everyday lives. Spanish may have been the language we heard from our parents and grandparents, but that does not mean we received the same formal Spanish education as someone who grew up attending school in Mexico.
Yet, instead of recognizing those differences, some monolingual Spanish speakers turn them into reasons to question one another’s identity.
The judgment is not limited to “no sabo.” Mexican Americans have long been called “pochos,” a term that can carry derogatory connotations. According to the Mexican Academy of Language’s Diccionario breve de mexicanismos, the word likely originates from the Spanish word meaning “discolored” and is used to describe Mexicans who were born and raised in the U.S. and are perceived as having become Americanized in their way of behaving or speaking.
I learned early in my working life how isolating that divide can feel.
When I was old enough to begin working, I had a job where most of my coworkers were Hispanic. I was let go within two weeks of starting and was told there were “cultural differences.” But I did not feel culturally different from the people around me.
I spoke English comfortably, and I felt pushed away because of it. I was constantly asked, “¿Eres de aquí, verdad?” followed by a side smirk. At that moment, I felt as though my English was perceived as a threat rather than a benefit.
That experience stayed with me because I wondered how I could be considered culturally different from people with whom I shared so much. As much as I wanted to understand, I couldn’t validate their rejection.
Being born in the U.S. did not erase the culture I was raised in. Speaking English did not erase the Spanish I knew. And singing along to English lyrics did not suddenly make me less Mexican American.
There is a contradiction in criticizing first-generation children for becoming more proficient in English when that was the language we needed to navigate the country where we were raised. Our parents came to the U.S., and their children entered American schools, workplaces and institutions where English was dominant.
As first-gens, many of us were also learning to navigate systems our parents did not understand and, at times, even feared. While they focused on providing for us, we became their guides, translating not only language but documents, conversations and unfamiliar systems.
Then, somehow, being more comfortable speaking English was used against us when progress was the whole point of immigration, according to our parents’ and grandparents’ vision of the “American dream.”
Some may argue that “no sabo” is nothing more than a joke and that younger generations should make a greater effort to preserve Spanish. I agree with the second part. Maintaining our language matters. Spanish gives many of us a connection to our parents, grandparents, history and culture. That is worth protecting.
But ridicule is not preservation.
Let’s teach one another and learn from one another. Do not shame us for learning and practicing an additional language or for speaking Spanish differently from you.
Amàlia Llombart, a professor of Spanish linguistics who specializes in bilingualism, sociolinguistics and heritage language education, said that being bilingual is not limited to just being able to speak an additional language.
“The definition that we use nowadays for bilingual is a person who uses two languages in their daily life,” Llombart said.
First-generation Mexican Americans play a unique role. We may speak English differently from our parents and Spanish differently from our relatives in Mexico, but we persevere through the challenges of navigating two languages daily by continuing to speak both, regardless of our imperfections.
We may celebrate traditions from both sides of the border and develop new ones here. That experience does not make us culturally deficient. It is part of what it means to grow up between two cultures.
Dual identities do not necessarily equate to fluency. Llombart said several factors influence a bilingual person’s level of proficiency in each language, including their environment, daily language use and exposure to each language.
“People speak different ways depending on their experiences,” Llombart said.
And to be clear, I am not seeking validation or acceptance. I do not need someone else to validate my identity. I give that to myself. Instead of saying que no “no soy ni de aquí ni de allá,” I say que, “soy de aquí y de allá.”
What I am proposing is something much greater than acceptance. We need to recognize the strengths we each bring to our community and use them to help one another.
Some of us know how to navigate systems in the U.S. because we were raised here. Others carry language, traditions and experiences from Mexico we can learn from, too. Instead of using those differences to decide who is more Mexican, imagine what we could accomplish if we brought those strengths together.
There are already enough challenges dividing our communities, including discrimination and prejudice. We shouldn’t add to that division.
Spanish should be something that connects generations, not a test Mexican Americans have to pass to prove we belong. Instead of labeling someone a “no sabo” for the Spanish they do not know, we should recognize what they are trying to hold onto.
Our accents may be different. Our experiences may be different. Even our Spanish may be different.
None of that should make us less worthy of belonging to the same community.
We are not “pochos,” and we are not “no sabo kids.” We are Mexican American. We are Hispanic. We are the product of two languages and two cultures, and neither should be used to diminish one another.
