Krislyn Real
Beaverton, OR
When I was younger race was something to be proud of. I grew up in central California where the Latin-American population is rather high. I was surrounded by my culture. I loved the man who would drive down the street and stop to sell you conchas and tamales – the strawberry conchas were my favorite. Fast forward some years later and I’m sitting in my summer school class. I realize most of the class is Latin-American. The kids would speak in Spanish and I understood a little of what they were saying, although I’m not fluent. They would discuss their plans after school, clearly all friends. One day they asked me, where am I from? I told them I was from California and all about my Mexican heritage, to which they replied “you’re not Mexican, you don’t speak Spanish.” I felt as though I needed to defend myself and my culture. I’d tell them about my grandfather, about all the Mexican food I’d eaten growing up and how every other member of my family spoke Spanish. We never talked about what brought me to Oregon, why I liked musicals or what my favorite music was. But to this day, those same people refer to me the same – I am a “gringa.”
