I was born in the United States but my father wasn’t. My first language is English, my father’s isn’t. But my culture is his culture even if the setting is different. We are the same, even if that looks different. I am the daughter of an immigrant. The burden is not appearing to be my father’s daughter. The burden is living in a world that judges people on the color of their skin, their country of origin and clings to ridiculous, superficial stereotypes as truth rather than taking the time to get to know people.
The color of my skin, hair, and eyes are easily misunderstood. Growing up, people never thought my parents were my parents because, in all honesty, at first glance, I don’t outwardly share their features. But if you take a deeper look, they are there, along with all of my ancestors. I am the product of a biracial marriage and I am proud of who I am, who they are, and where they come from. Even if I’ll never look like what the world expects stereotypically and I’ll always be the white passing freckled Mexican in the room, I love myself exactly as I am and I wouldn’t change a single thing about that.
Being a first generation immigrant daughter is not easy.
It came with a lot of firsts that were expected of me and I had to push the boulder up the mountain for the rest of my family. I was the first person in my family to go to college and graduate school. I am the first person who can walk into a room and feel like she belongs in the US. My parents made sure to instill a sense of belonging and unconditional love that is unwavering. Even if the world says I’m not good enough, I won’t believe it because the two most important people in my world showed me otherwise.
We are taught from birth to love this country and raised to know all the opportunity it gave to our family. We don’t take anything for granted. We appreciate the little things because we know they are not guaranteed. My dad is one of the most patriotic people I know. But still, he has spent his life being judged before he opens his mouth by the color of his skin. He’s never let that change the love and gratitude he feels toward this country.
We have to work hard just to prove we deserve to be here.
It has always been particularly hard for me to watch my dad, a proud man, struggle with his place in this country. I have the privilege of being born here, so we don’t have the same experience, but his struggle is my struggle.
I vividly remember when I was little that my dad encouraged us to take our mom’s last name because he thought it would make life easier on us to live with English last names versus Spanish ones. At the time, I was hurt and confused that my dad would even suggest such a thing, but as I got older and experienced racism for myself, I realized what a sacrifice this proud man was making in even suggesting such a thing just to give his children a better life. Because of this, when I got married, I hyphenated my last name because representation really does matter.
It’s hard enough to live as a Latina in the US, but it's even harder in a white body.
People think it’s easier, but it’s not. It’s actively choosing to be a target every day of racism because you can blend in if you want to. I had a choice. My children have a choice. My dad has no choice because the color of his skin tells the world who he is before he even thinks about opening his mouth.
White passing is its own burden. People might think it’s easier, but it’s not. You get to hear racist comments and witness it from the inside because your skin isn’t brown. You live somewhere between too white to be brown but too brown to be white; trying to convince everyone that you’re Latina enough.
In the end, it’s not the color of my skin that makes me who I am. It is the people who raised me and loved me. It is my ancestors’ blood that runs through me. It's about those who worked and sacrificed to give me a better life. It’s every hard thing my parents ever did so I wouldn’t have to. Being the daughter of an immigrant means knowing and never forgetting the people and culture that I come from while growing into the person I’m supposed to become.
