For a long time I was ashamed of my heritage. From being called racial slurs in middle school and being that “mexican” girl, to being called ghetto SO many times in HS. I was too white for my mexican friends and too mexican for everyone else. It was hard. I was so embarrassed of my own culture. I literally hid everything that made me, me. I tried not to burn in the summer so I would avoid getting my golden tan. I never wore my earrings or gold jewelry that was passed down from my parents. I stopped speaking Spanish. Even in my Spanish classes. I never listened to Spanish music at this point. I wanted to be anything other than a Latina. I wanted to avoid being called names, hearing whispering immigration jokes behind my back and being referred to as “the mexican girl.”
And I eventually had to face hard truths. I had to stop running away from my heritage, and embrace it. I stopped caring about what people thought of me. My race wasn’t to be questioned anymore. My likes in music or aesthetic was mine to love and no one else’s. I remembered my dad. He was born in Cuauhtémoc, Chihuahua but grew up in Juarez. When you think of mexican men, most people think of boots and a tejana. Not my dad. He was as rebellious as they come. He was a certified bad ass. Never in boots but always in Converse. Tattooed. Tan skin. Hair was so dark and thick and always so nicely combed. He smelled of Tres Flores and cologne. He wore jerseys. Football, baseball, even hockey jerseys! Driving a 66 Impala with hydrolics but jamming to Los Tigres Del Norte. There was literally nothing ordinary about this man. And my mom. She was also born and raised in Cuauhtémoc as well, until she made it to the U.S. She had me at 15 so as I grew up alongside her, I watched her get ready everyday. She wore her hair in style. It was BIG and beautiful. Her ears were dripping in gold hoop earrings. Her lips, lined with dark brown lip liner and when eyeliner became a trend, there was a sharp black line to kill.
I see pictures of them two together and I don’t see racial slurs or immigration jokes. I see beauty. Beauty in my dads dark, gold skin and beauty in my moms very light almost pale skin. My mom spoke Fluent English and my dad, well didn’t. So I got the best of both worlds. I want that for my own babies. I want them to remember their dad and I as I remember my own parents. Beautiful and true to their culture.
Not everyone is for us and that’s okay. As long as I am for myself, and encourage my children to embrace their cultura, that’s all that matters.
And on another note, Latinas have ALWAYS been trendy.
Motherhood Cantina 