I attended a middle school with only seven Hispanics/Latinos. One day during 2nd period, the librarian called all seven of us over the intercom to come to the library. I had no idea why, but everyone laughed as I walked out of class. I got to the library along with the other students to find out the librarian had ordered the very first set of Spanish books. She wanted a picture of the seven of us pretending to read them for a picture to put up in the hallway. I let her know that I didn’t know how to read in Spanish, and she ignored me and snapped a photo anyway. Walking back to class, I felt wronged but couldn’t process my feelings. When I got back to class, the first question I was asked was, “So did you all eat tacos?” Those would be the beginning of a long process for me to sort out the feelings I had about my heritage. As a middle-schooler in a school where I wasn’t noticed for my academic achievements, but rather for my skin tone, being Hispanic was difficult. As an adult, being Hispanic is something I am proud of.