In a memory that feels a million years ago, I am sitting at a crafts table at some summer daycare program. I am very young, no older than six. We are drawing pictures of our fathers, and I am happily coloring away. The blonde, white girl next to me looks at the picture of my dark complexioned dad and says something along the lines of “your dad is an indian”, proceeding to draw two red lines across both of his cheeks.
For as long as I can remember, I knew there was something different about my family. If you grow up mixed, you know how it is. Non mixed kids don’t get asked things like if one of the parents is their step parent. Non mixed kids see families on tv that look like their family. Non mixed families get constant societal reassurance their families are normal.
Being mixed was not something my parents talked about to me or my sister. I don’t think they really saw why it should be talked about. My dad, although proud of his family heritage, is not really one to talk about racism he has faced or how it was to grow up Mexican in the United States. I’m not sure if it’s just not something he thinks about or just doesn’t know how to talk about.
But I want to talk about being mixed. One day, I hope I have children. I want them to be able to talk to me about how coming from a mixed background is impacting their lives, and any struggles or joys that come from it. I don’t want them to feel as lost as I have for so long.
My mother’s European genes were certainly more dominant and though I could be described as racially ambiguous, for most people I look white. Looking white and not being all white is nothing short of strange. I have people say racist things around me because I guess they assume another white person is just as racist as they are. The most hurtful thing is when I am told or made to feel like I am not Mexican just because I look or “talk” white. What the hell does that even mean? Who gets to be the gatekeeper to Mexican identity? You get to decide what I am and feel inside?
If you have ever told someone something along these lines, you should feel embarrassed. I will not base my cultural identity on standards you set. I get to decide who I am.
When people like Gina Rodriguez speak out against bullies who tell her she isn’t Latina enough, she’s speaking up for anyone who was made to feel as if they somehow were not culturally good enough. When Taye Diggs writes a book for his mixed son, he is writing a book for all kids who need to be reminded they are fine just they way they are.
I am me. I am mixed. I am not embarrassed or ashamed of my family. My family is not weird. My family is not wrong.
