In 1995, I was a volunteer teacher at the Sunday school for my church in California. I had no formal training as a teacher and based most of what I taught on the students' needs. It was common practice in my class to start off the lessons by discussing what their week was like in school and the various problems they encountered while trying to implement one of the Christian values that they had learned, e.g. obedience, humility, etc. They never ceased to amaze me.

One day I learned more than I was teaching.The discussion was about identity (Ethiopianness) and what that made them feel like. The children, who ranged in age from 7 years to 12 years, wrote a list of things they had heard their parents say and then expressed their feelings about those issues. Some of the children were born in Ethiopia; others were born in America. Their simple responses carry an important message that all parents should heed.

"This is an Ethiopian house, not an American house," is a common statement that we hear from parents who left home without preparing themselves on how to live and raise children in America. The first part of the statement shows the struggles of the parents who are firmly stating their wish to hold on to what they know, while the second part of the statement reflects their fear of being lost in the American "melting pot". This statement confuses the child who has grown up in America, leaving him or her feeling different. And we all know how other kids treat "different" kids.

"When I was growing up back home…you are lucky to have all…". Comparing what life was like for them "back home" with the life that their children have now is also very common among parents in the Diaspora. Parents often use this "back in our days" strategy to try and keep their children in line, but what makes this different with immigrant children is that they have no reference to the place called "back home". To our children born in the Diaspora, "our home" or "our mother land" is as abstract as the land of Oz. What parents are really saying is, "I want to let things continue as they were. I don't want us to change, and I want you to be just like me, i.e. have my values, my beliefs, etc." The fear of loosing one's identity is one of the biggest fears that immigrants face.

"Whenever my mom speaks the Ethiopian language," states Yared, "she never tells me what it means." Another child says, "I don't think we have to speak the Ethiopian language in an American house." There are a range of statements made by other children that fit between these two extremes. Some are eager to learn this strange tongue, while others don't want to have anything to do with it. It would not be wrong to state that most children speak Amharic only up until they start going to pre-school, at which time they reject Amharic and speak English. Children often have difficulty understanding the importance of a language that is only spoken at home, as is the case with the languages of minority groups in America. Language is a marker of difference and since children do not want to stand out in a crowd, they avoid anything that will make them "different". Most parents give up and let the children win the language battle after kindergarten and first grade. During their teen years and early twenties, most Ethiopians regret not having learned the language and blame their parents for not teaching it to them. In a small experiment that I did in my class, I discovered that almost all kids understand what you are saying to them 60 to 70 percent of the time, but do not know how to respond appropriately. 80 percent of the words that they do know are imperatives such as Zem bel (Be quiet!), Waa bicha (I am warning you), Hid kezih (Get out of here!), Berun zegi (Shut the door), Weha sitegn (Give me water), and Bella (Eat).

I am by no means trying to give answers to the problems of raising the children of immigrants, but I want to emphasize that we need to listen to them and give them what we can. We should try to create a safe place for them to discuss their concerns, such as where they fit in this land, America, that defines you by the color of your skin. We need to allow them to bring forth their simple-phrased but loaded statements and let them know that they are not alone.

Running from demons, we left home in a rush, unprepared for how to raise the next generation in the Diaspora. Separated from the normal structure that helped us shape our identities, we have to find ways of bestowing our "Ethiopianness" on our children who are surrounded by a dominant culture that negates most of our values.

Enanu Haileleoul teaches Amharic to the Ethiopian Orthodox Church youth group in Berkeley, California. She can be reached at ehaileleoul@perintalcouncil.org

Opinions expressed are those of individual authors.