Brown Armor

I am Mexican. I look Mexican. I speak Spanish. I can tell you where in Mexico my parents grew up. I know when people see me they see a Mexican woman. I have brown armor. When you see me you have an image of me, my beliefs, and my experience.

What about people who don't look Mexican? What about people without armor? Until last night I don't think I have really thought about it. My brown skin is protection. People see me and will hold their tongue or rethink their words or purposefully attack. Wen your outside does not match your inside, people think they are among friends and don't realize the enemy in front of them. If you are friend I can be me. If you are foe I must be guarded me.

As advanced as we are we see with our eyes and we judge. Even though Mexicans come in all colors, shades, shapes, sizes, and even races, people see me and think Mexican and see Ravebaby and think Black or maybe Dominican. For better or worse we see and we judge. So my brown armor is protection.

It's funny, not haha funny, that because I am brown it is much easier for people to believe I am the cleaning lady than the boss. People will look at me and tell me to go clean the bathroom and to point them to the librarian. Funny. If I speak Spanish then I must be a wetback and an illegal. If I speak English then I am a traitor. I often describe myself as a Wetback American. People see me and want to see the worst stereotype. Mexicans are nannies not CEOs. Mexicans teach Spanish not History. Mexicans steal the books not run the library. So my brown armor is a curse too.

People cannot easily the soul. I have a friend, actually a few, who have Mexican souls. They don't have brown armor. People are honest with them about their views of Mexican never realizing that they are sharing their truth with the enemy. I am jealous of this superpower. My friends can hide in plain sight. People are honest with them. People struggle to be honest with me. People will tolerate me while thinking that my place is in the kitchen. I am brown so they hide. But they don't hide from my friends. My friends can help move me in the safe circle. My friends can help me change minds. My friends know the truth.

I am rambling. I know I am but my mind is rambling. I don't know how to help someone make their outside reflect their insides. To be honest I have no clue why they would want to. Brown armor is a double edge sword. It helps and it hurts. It is protection but limits mobility. It allows the enemy to hide while forcing me to be in the open. Ramble ramble ramble . . .

Defining Family

Last week I had pick up my nephew, well maybe I should say DH's nephew. So that in itself is the whole point of this post. I don't think in terms of his and mine. DH has 3 nieces and one nephew. I have 3 nieces and a nephew. We have been together for 17 years and none of the nieces or nephews were around til after we had been together so they have all always had the both of us. We don't think about them as belonging more to one of us. They are are family. That is how we see it.

So back to picking up my nephew, Ravebaby and Spongebob are both in the same gymnastics class and they love being in the same class. As part of getting them in the same class, I agreed to pick up Spongebob as needed. Last week was the first time I had to pick him up from school instead from my mother-in-laws house. I figured I would have to show ID. I figured I would have to be on his pickup list. My SIL did not have me on her list so they made a huge fuss about calling her and copying my ID. I didn't really think too much about it until I talked to my SIL later. They had never done that before. Never had they questioned a person picking up her child. Then my SIL reminded me why they questioned me, I am not black.

Funny how I had forgotten that. Funny that to me the family connection is obvious. I had Ravebaby with me. I had a half-black kid with me and my last name is the same as Spongebob but I'm not black so how can it really be okay for me to pick him up? I totally forgot.

People want things to work they way they think they should work. Black with black, white with white, Mexican with Mexican or at least Latin of some sort. It's not that they view it as bad just not their everyday. Maybe they talked about me and my family after we left, "Spongebob's aunt it Mexican, ewww.". I don't know. I don't care. He is my nephew and your suspicious mind is going to make us late for gymnastics, let's go lady!

I guess DH would have the same trouble if he had to pick up one of "my" nieces or nephew. I know people want a designation. They want a box to check. People want to know am I talking about the black ones or the Mexican ones. Sorry, we are just a family. Assume what you will just remember that assuming makes an ass out of you and me.

20 min run next to public enemy #1

Okay so it wasn't that bad.  The dude is actually very nice but today he and some really old dude had to talk about Trayvon Martin.  These dudes were white (point of fact).  They were both in agreement that Trayvon probably deserved it and that the other dude was justified in shooting.  I wanted to puke.  I had just started my 20 min run and I was struggling to push myself to run and here these guys are talking about how some kid deserved to die because he was in a hoodie in a place he shouldn't have been and that the media was using a baby picture to make the other guy seem horrible. 

I've purposely avoided talking about Trayvon.  It hurts to think about it.  I'm a mom.  My husband is black and that means, God willing, that I'll have a son who is black.  DH and I plan to live in a "nice" neighborhood.  I can't think about it without thinking it could happen to me.  I could be Trayvon's mom.  DH loves to wear a hoodie.  In fact he usually dresses as the Uni-bomber for Halloween in a dark gray hoodie.  Since when does what you wear determine whether or not you live?  Have we gotten to the point that life means so little? 

So today I ran 20 mins.  I didn't want to.  The old dudes nearly made me quit.  I had my headphones in and I pretended to be into my run.  I wanted to say something.  Between Fox News on the TV and the dudes next to me, I just wanted to leave.  How do you push to make yourself better when the world seems to only see you by the pigments of your skins?  I can't tell you how many times I've been mistaken as the cleaning lady instead of the teacher/librarian.  I didn't stop.  I kept running.  Every time I wanted to quit I pushed harder.  Rather than let someone who doesn't know me determine my life, I used it to push myself to be better.  I know these old dudes are entitled to their opinion same as me.  Life teaches us to look at things and make judgments based on our own experiences.  None of us know all of the facts in the case so me jumping on some old dude's case wouldn't do anything.  Besides I would have started crying and then I would have lost all creditability.   

So what did I learn today?  I can run 20 mins straight!  I also learned that only I can determine how I do in this life.  I might live to be 100 or die on the way home but my life is just that my life.  I can't be scared to do something because of what someone else might think.  For every person that sees me as the cleaning lady, there are just as many who's life I've changed through teaching or heck just by breathing.  I've got to do me.  Right now I am a wife, mother and a runner in training. 

Today at Standpipe after my run.

Did you adopt her?

So Saturday, I took Audrey to the Nacogdoches Spring Fling.  It was a girls only trip.  I was going to support my girls from LLL of Nac and to go to the Farmer's Market which I had never been to. 

There were lots of activities for Miss Audrey and we had fun walking around and catching up with the girls.  While we were at one table a little girl came over to us and asked, very politely, "Did you adopt her?"  I had never been asked that before and I a bit stunned to be honest.  What do you say to that question?  I mean I had never really thought much about it that anyone would think that she wasn't my kid.  She looks a lot like DH but she looks like me too. 

I think the most interesting part was the woman who was across from us and her reaction.  She perked up and turned to me and said, kinda with a giggle, "Kids will say anything that comes to mind."  And then she kind of leaned in to hear the answer and I guess my reaction. 

I guess from the outside looking in, it might be fun.  What is this adult going to say?  I could go all nuclear on her.  I could be cool and ignore it.  I could have a great answer.  My answer was none of these things.  I simply looked at her and said, "Honey, she's mine.  Her daddy is dark but I had her."  Plain and simple.  Easy and truthful.  She was a child and she had a question and I was the only person who could answer. 

How would you react?  I just went into teacher/librarian mode and answered the question.  What else could I do?  I'm glad that I got the question.  I had never thought about it.   An adult would not be so nice.  An adult would ask with judgment.  So would my reaction to an adult be different?  My guess is yes.  How could I stay calm and chill when someone is making a value call on my child?  I'm use to questions/judgments on my marriage.  Can't be in an interracial relationship for over 16 years and not have a ready response to, "Why you marry one of our men?" but that is a different blog post all together.  But when it comes to my child, that is a whole different territory.

I have no clue how to start the race dialogue with Audrey.  I know she notices.  Black men are daddy.  I've heard her point to pictures and say it.  I do correct her.  No that's not daddy.  What do I say?  No honey, random black dude.  I've not heard her say it when she sees a picture of Hispanic women but then I would be with her and she could easily compare.  I know she knows there is a difference.  How do I vocalize it?  How do I explain it to her?

I remember when my niece asked about it.  DH and I been together 16 years and our oldest niece is 15 so she's always known me and I've always been with her uncle.  I'm her aunt.  She was in school like st grade I think.  Her teacher must have said something because as relied to us by my sister-in-law, our niece and came home and say, "[Uncle] and Martha aren't the same color are they?"  She didn't know because we never told her.  But Audrey is different.  Audrey is biracial/bi-cultural.  Bi-coloredness is part of her identity.  I think I'll be visiting some bi-cultural mom blogs and see how they are handling it.  I feel so unprepared for the race talk.