Grand Terrace, CA.
When I’m overheard speaking in Spanish. Really? My response… Yes, I’m Cuban and it was my first language. (As I’m thinking, well, what am I supposed to look like?) But you’re so WHITE! Yes I know…I own a mirror, thanks. (As I cringe at being compared to say a sheet, a toilet bowl, or maybe an egg) and again I respond “well yes, my background is primarily of Spaniard descent and most of my immediate family is light skinned). Occasionally I well get “oh…I knew you were “something” I just didn’t know what”. Ummm…ok, first I’m white, now an object as opposed to an college grad, nurse, mother, friend etc and a pretty decent human being? Okay. “Well you have good hair, and your freckles are cute”. Well thank You, thank you very much. (good hair? ¿que carajo?). I can also shake it to Celia Cruz, cook a mean arroz con frijoles, and wear my heritage proudly regardless of your opinion, approval, or lack thereof. Thank you in advance for your cooperation, vaya con Dios.