Daniel Kaper-Barcelata ’28 has taken notes from both of his parents’ cultures to create harmony in his identity.
When Daniel Kaper-Barcelata ’28 visited the Netherlands with his dad in the summer of 2022, it was the first time he’d been back to his paternal grandparents’ homeland in a couple of years because of COVID-19 restrictions. His grandfather had died during the height of the pandemic, so Kaper-Barcelata was inspired to make this trip — which he’d done annually since childhood — special by exploring his family’s history. He rented a bicycle and traveled miles, visiting his grandparents’ hometowns, going to see his grandfather’s two old wax-refining factories, and letting his wheels guide him to new favorite places like the village of Driehuizen, with which he became enamored for its historic charm. As a high school senior in Wayne, Pa., Kaper-Barcelata wrote this college application essay synthesizing his bike rides.
The Netherlands’ many bike paths are lined with rows of poplar trees that seem to reach the horizon. I pedaled under a leafy canopy with jazz legend Bill Evans’ rendition of “Alice in Wonderland” in my ears. Veering off the trail, my adventurous spirit took over, and I kept going until I was transported back to the 17th century. It appears as if little has changed in the town of Driehuizen since the church steeple was completed more than 400 years ago.
I parked my rental bike and settled in at De Vriendschap, Driehuizen’s singular café. I am hardly fluent in my father’s native language, but I tried my best to piece together an order of broodje kroket and iced tea. Peaceful inlets and canals line the town. I watched as young mothers purchased fresh produce on the honor system from the makeshift tables that dotted the street. The silent tranquility of life there unleashed my curiosity about those living in the rows of charming and impeccably kept houses.
Approximately an hour’s drive south, my paternal grandmother’s hometown of Schiedam is quite similar. It is painful for me to think of her as a little girl, surviving under Nazi occupation and living on bread made from tulip bulbs.
After lunch, I biked past my grandfather’s old factory in Koog aan de Zaan. When his original factory burned to the ground, he rebuilt it, determined to achieve his entrepreneurial dreams. Through beaten fences overrun with ivy, I could barely see his old office and the towering rusty silos behind it. They were in disarray but still standing, proof of his resilience.
The rustic calm of Driehuizen is a stark contrast to the urban frenzy of Mexico City, where my mother’s family lives. In Mexico, I don’t have the luxury of quiet bike rides in the countryside. There are no paths — just motorcycles, cars, trucks, and pedestrians trying to funnel their way through the periférico (beltway). From the moment I arrive at my maternal grandmother’s home in Naucalpan, I am met by an endless gathering of primos, tíos, and tías.
My life there is a constant flow of family members and emotions where everyone openly expresses the love and connection we share. If a visit to my father’s homeland is serene, time spent with my mother’s family is a stream of impromptu reunions, parties, colliding conversations, and music, always music.
Illustration by Stuart Bradford
The exuberant Barcelatas inspired my love of music. My Great-Uncle Lorenzo was a renowned mariachi guitarist and singer whose style was infused with passion and spontaneity. I spent years training in the classical bass, but always felt a lack of emotion. That changed after I discovered jazz. From my first attempt at improvisation, I experienced the type of unbridled expression that defined Lorenzo’s astonishing career.
Lorenzo’s example, along with my cultural diversity, is reflected in how I feel about playing jazz — where both silence and spontaneous expression are equally important. Holding a long rest while performing a piece is as exhilarating to me as letting loose with a dynamic burst of unpredictable notes. It is not unlike enjoying the serenity of a Driehuizen café and the boisterous energy of a Mexican party.
Lorenzo Barcelata has been memorialized by having one of his pieces placed on the Golden Record aboard the Voyager spacecraft. However, his fame has little to do with being sequestered to interstellar space. Nor is my paternal grandparents’ permanence reflected in that dilapidated factory or the horrific events of the past century. Their immortality resides in the lives they’ve touched.
I am a proud extension of those who came before me. The combined history and contrasting cultures that influence my life are not paradoxical. They simultaneously influence the person I am and the one I strive to become. Our rich past, along with my eclectic present, inspires me to harness my oma’s courage, my opa’s tenacity, and Lorenzo’s musical passion. That is how I honor their legacy. That is how I create a life story uniquely my own.
— Kaper-Barcelata is a member of men’s rowing, the Latin-American Student Organization, and Star ’Gate. He plans to major in astronomy-physics, a subject he became fascinated with after a pre-K planetarium visit. Kaper-Barcelata learned about Colgate from Men’s Rowing Coach Khaled Sanad, and the Chenango Valley’s natural beauty solidified the choice for the Eagle Scout, who participated in Outdoor Education’s Wilderness Adventure pre-orientation. “I felt like [Colgate] was somewhere I could go to the woods and live deliberately,” he says, riffing on Thoreau’s famous quote. “It’s everything all in one.”