The lunch line slowed to a crawl, stopping me just beyond the cafeteria’s double doors. Beside me, two of my friends cracked jokes and complained about earlier classes. I joined in on occasion, but I was content to listen to their conversation in the background, instead observing the familiar faces around me. The line inched forward, snapping me back to the present. It was enough for me to realize the words I’d been hearing for the last couple of minutes didn’t make sense.

When I asked what they said, they turned back to look at me and chuckled, explaining that they’d been speaking in Polish, their native tongue. 

Of course I’d known they were Polish — I’d been friends with them since kindergarten — but for some reason the idea that they could speak with each other in a way that I couldn’t understand had never occurred to me. I spoke Spanish strictly with my family members and people outside of school; I’d never had someone to casually laugh with in a language only we understood.

I felt left out. 

Throughout elementary school, my surroundings were predominantly white and stayed that way even when I moved to Louisville. I had almost no contact with Spanish-speaking classmates until the fifth grade, when I transitioned to Lassiter Middle School. There, Hispanic students made up the majority in every class.

With my new group of friends, I’d gotten exactly what I wanted — I finally had people who, like me, spoke a mix between Spanish and English with ease. But, the feeling didn’t last. 

Packed around our regular table in social studies, my friends and I discussed everything from weekend plans to pop culture. Unlike previous friendships, these moments felt more personal; we talked as if we’d known each other for years and not a few months. Of course, there were still disconnects.

The conversation shifted toward the topic of music, to a song I wasn’t familiar with. 

“What’s that?” I asked. 

Instead of a quick answer like I’d been expecting, the girl shot back, “Of course you wouldn’t understand. You’re too white-washed.”

I’d never heard the word before, let alone been the target of it, but it didn’t take much to guess its meaning. 

My friends laughed and moved on. I did not.

Growing up, my parents introduced me to modern rather than traditional music, and I’d never thought anything of it until that moment. Of course I knew that growing up surrounded by people of diverse cultural backgrounds would make me a little different, but it never occurred to me that it would be so clear to others.  

For so long, I’d been too “different” than my white peers, but suddenly I wasn’t “Hispanic” enough for my new ones. That single moment, seemingly insignificant, planted the seed of insecurity in my brain. How much did I really know about my culture? How much did I really know about myself? 

Adelante Hispanic Achievers

Signs decorated the walls, advertising a new program to be hosted by the school. I ignored it, instead focusing on my first class of the day — did I have homework due? A test? 

“We should go,” my friend said, drawing me from my thoughts. 

“Huh?” I asked absently. 

She repeated herself, begging me to go with her, “just one meeting,” she said. 

Maybe it was that I had nothing else to do, or maybe it was because I didn’t really believe she would go through with it, but I said I would. 

The bell rang, releasing a flood of students to their lockers. While most trekked toward the buses, we turned toward the library, leaving our classmates behind. I reluctantly followed my friend into the room, standing still as she caught up with others already at the meeting. I sat next to them, expecting an awkward hello or two, but they were quick to include me in their conversations.

With just a few words, my dour mood vanished, replaced with energy I hadn’t felt in months. 

Rhythmic claps alerted us to the start of the presentation, where the organizers detailed the goals of the program, what times subsequent meetings would be and any special resources it had to offer. 

My first meeting with the Adelante Hispanic Achievers program had begun. 

Founded in 2005 by Stephen Imhoff, the program provides middle schoolers with tutoring aid from high schoolers throughout Louisville. Imhoff, a former JCPS school board chairman, primarily wanted to provide resources and information to Hispanic and Latino youth. 

Adelante is built on five pillars: personal and social development, educational preparedness, career exploration, community service and cultural awareness. Each plays a role in the creation and assignment of activities during meetings, as well as providing a space for Hispanic and Latino students to learn about each other and their roots. 

After my first meeting, I promised myself that I would take advantage of the resources offered to me and learn to become a better version of myself as a Latina woman. Though I’m no longer a part of the program, I still find ways to stay in touch with my culture.

On Saturday, Oct. 19, six years after my first meeting, current members of Adelante spent their morning volunteering at the St. Vincent de Paul food pantry. 

Fabiola Marin, 16, a junior at Spencer County High School, believes that Adelante lives up to its mission of providing for the youth. 

“They have new opportunities and it’s really exciting because you don’t have to pay for Adelante,” Marin said. “You go and you learn and you experience new things, you meet new people.”

Since St. Vincent de Paul is dedicated to feeding those in need, volunteers who are willing to give their time to the program go a long way. 

William Avendano, 17, a junior at Louisville Male High School, also helped at the event, ensuring that the pantry was as clean as possible throughout the day.

“Honestly, I just love helping. And I love the idea that the little things that I can do can go big ways for others,” Avendano said. 

Throughout my time at Adelante, I gained confidence in myself, met people I never would have otherwise and grew to appreciate and be proud of my culture. I was lucky that my school offered the program, but other, more well-known organizations across Louisville strive for the same goal: to help Hispanic and Latino youth grow comfortable with themselves and those around them.

Backside Learning Center

Thick, summer air blew past me as I ran up the stairs, through the porch and to the black rimmed door of my aunt’s house. I knocked, peering over the stained glass window — eager to see my cousins. But when the door swung open, I was face to face with my aunt.

“Where are they?” I asked, unable to hide my disappointment.

“Off at BLC,” she said, “you just missed them.”

Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t the only time I “just missed them” that summer. My cousins participated in an organization called the Backside Learning Center (BLC), a nonprofit group that focuses on supporting the racetrack workers at Churchill Downs and their families. Although I never directly participated in the program, my uncle worked as a groomer for the horses, so my cousins had been involved for years.

BLC offers resources for Churchill Downs workers in order to ease them into their daily lives in Louisville. Around 80% of the workers are immigrants, so BLC provides them with a variety of ways to learn English. Many of those workers have kids, so they created The Mom’s Group, which encourages mothers to promote literacy for their children, and Growing Up Together, a group for teens that offers life advice in a judgment-free zone.  

Taylor Ohlmann, the youth programs manager, is in charge of providing kids like my cousins with a safe space to have fun and further their education. She works with the youth in order to foster an accepting community, a breath of fresh air and a place to unwind.

“To be able to have a group where they can connect in their native language and also have similar backgrounds, with their parents working at the track, that gives them a sense of belonging and community,” Ohlmann said.   

These groups were constants in my life when I was younger and helped both me and my family form stronger connections with our culture. However, both were geared more toward certain groups of youth — Adelante for middle and high school children and BLC for the kids of Churchill Downs workers.

La Casita

The most well-known operation in Louisville, open to people of all ages, is La Casita, an organization that supplies people of different cultural backgrounds with basic necessities, as well as educational opportunities.

In 2005, a group of Latina feminists founded La Casita because they wanted to make change in Louisville’s Hispanic and Latino community. Karina Barillas, the executive director of the organization, is a Guatemalan activist who loves giving back to her community.

“I think for me specifically, something that I enjoy the most is when I’m able to hang out with people and I’m able to highlight things from our heritage,” Barillas said.

Valeria Lopez, 13, a student at Newburg Middle School, is an active member of La Casita and has been since kindergarten. Barillas’ efforts have inspired members like Lopez to have pride in showing off their culture. 

“I like presenting to people my heritage and how we dance,” Lopez said.

Many young women in the program participate for the same reason as Lopez: to find a second family that promotes self-discovery, education and expression. 

Adelante Hispanic Achievers provided me with a new community that allowed me to reconnect with my culture. BLC gave my cousins an escape to enjoy their summer. La Casita continues to offer a creative outlet to anyone looking for a way to show off their heritage. 

It is essential for groups like Adelante, BLC and La Casita to continue providing resources and opportunities that build Louisville’s youth into the leaders of the future.