Tuning In to a Heritage Ignored : Culture: Parents can pass along family history. But sometimes it takes a stranger to help you appreciate where you come from.

I always hated my dad’s music. When we were growing up in suburban Elgin, some 40 miles west of Chicago, my brother, sister and I would roll our eyes whenever he played those Mexican songs around the house.

The only Mexican music I really enjoyed was tejano style. It reflected more of a Mexican American influence. My dad hated tejano.

“Why does Dad have to play his music so loud?” we would complain to my mom. She would shrug her shoulders.

It would be really embarrassing when he worked on his car in the driveway with the songs blasting from a stereo. Even more mortifying if my friends were around.

The Mexican songs he likes are corridos. They sound a lot like polkas. When performing, many musicians add a rhythmic grito, or scream, to them.

Whenever I heard the music, I would rush to turn it off. I never paid attention to the lyrics. It wasn’t until recently that I gained new appreciation for my dad’s musical taste.

I was assigned to cover a speaker at a nearby community college, a man named Jesus Negrete, an artist, composer and historian from Chicago. Instead of the speech I was expecting, he charmed his audience with visuals and songs to convey the history of Mexicans and Mexican Americans.

The songs he used were corridos.

When I heard the chords of the first song, immediately I thought of my dad. My first impulse was to run up onto the stage and pull the plug. I hope this ends soon, I thought to myself. It didn’t. An hour into the program, as photos of Mexican women soldiers flashed on the screen, I noticed that I was actually paying attention to the lyrics of the corridos he used.

“They were your mothers, daughters, sisters . . . they fought for the Independence of Mexico,” Negrete sang in Spanish.

Images of migrant farm workers laboring in fields flashed on the screen.

“Working for less than a dollar a week . . . 12 hours a day, they slaved,” Negrete continued.

Pictures of Cesar Chavez leading Mexican Americans during protests and hunger strikes in California in the 1960s flashed on the screen. “He was our leader,” Negrete sang.

He showed us slides of a number of Mexican artists, musicians and educators, the whole time singing.

“Our corridos are our heritage,” he intoned. “They tell the history of our people.”

As I listened, a sense of pride enveloped me. It was such an intense emotion, something I hadn’t experienced since college.

During my years attending college, I had the opportunity to explore my culture. I took a few classes and heard guest lecturers talk about the accomplishments of Mexican Americans.

I joined Alpha Psi Lambda, a co-ed Latino fraternity. I served on the National Hispanic Heritage Month planning committee and joined the Organization of Latin American Students. I recall a sense of orgullo , pride, I felt for my race that I hadn’t felt before. I surrounded myself in an environment that nurtured those feelings.

Since then, sometimes I have wondered if I segregate myself too much. Maybe I’m too conscious about race.

A friend of mine, Karen, tells me I was never “this Mexican” in high school. She asks me, “Why does everything have to be about race? Why are you so conscious about it?”

It’s not just about race, I try to explain. It’s about appreciating who you are and where you come from.

Negrete’s slides and my dad’s music reminded me of that. After covering Negrete’s appearance at the college, I called my dad. I apologized for mocking his music. I told him I had a new respect for the corridos. I understood their importance.

He was surprised at my sudden declaration.

“OK, thank you,” he answered, a hint of suspicion in his voice. Then, after a pause, he assured me, “I still hate tejano music.”