I will turn 42 years old this year. My son is two. And I’m starting to realize he already knows more Spanish than I do, even though I grew up with it.

I grew up with my parents, siblings and grandparents speaking to me in Spanish, but I tended to listen and respond in English, since that was the language most spoken by my friends, classmates and my favorite cartoon characters. But the biggest reason I shied away from Spanish as a child was the racist baggage that came along with it. I grew up hearing about how my parents -- both of whom were born in the Los Angeles area -- were teased by classmates and punished, physically, by teachers, whenever they spoke Spanish on campus. In those days, a Spanish accent was often equated with stupidity, laziness or just plain un-American behavior. Those scars can stay with a person, and a family, for a long, long time.

So, over time I’ve lost most of my Spanish memory and have paid the price for it, particularly when it comes to retaining a part of my heritage.

That’s why I’m so thankful that others are helping my son do better than me when it comes to being bilingual. The biggest contributors to my son’s growing Spanish skills are by far my wife and her parents. Through them, my son has a growing fascination for words like “croquettas” (fried ham treats), “mimir” (a child variation of "dormir", which means sleep) and “por favor” (please). However, the word he uses most is “mas” (more), which he conjures up for words like “mas cookies” or “mas croquettas” or “mas Dora.”