Personal Narrative: I Am A Mexican-American

1215 Words 5 Pages
I was so proud of who I was back then. I proudly called myself a Mexican-American. I don’t know anymore. I would call myself a Mexican-American such as I did back then, but I can’t. It’s not an answer that is accepted by anyone. Not by my family, my friends or my classmates. I have to choose between these two options, but I am not accepted in either one of them. If I call myself an American, there will people telling me that I am not a true American because my parents are not from here. If I call myself a Mexican, there will be people telling me I am not a true Mexican because I was not born in Mexico. When I talk about racism people usually think that I am talking about the white kids at my school. They don’t know that people of “my own group” …show more content…
I was taught to follow the Mexican culture, even though I was born in the United States. “ No importanta que nacistes aquí, eres Mexicana y tienes que seguir la cultura”. I spoke both languages, celebrated the holidays, followed the religion, for a while, ate lots of Mexican food, arroz, frijoles, calabaza, gorditas, chorizo and much more. Before I started school my parents were already teaching me about the history of Mexico. By the time I started school, I knew about the Spanish invasion, the fact that I am mestizo, a person of European and Indigenous descent, the Mexican-American war, the Braceros program, and that Cinco de Mayo is not our Independence day. However, I was not taught a lot about the history of America. I knew English, who the president was, some of the holidays, but they never meant anything to me growing …show more content…
Not wanting to make her job and life as it is, I went to my desk and sat down, waiting for everyone else to settle down. After about five minutes, kids started to sit down in their seats. Once everyone was seated, the teacher began to drone on about the rules, don't run, don’t fight, don’t kill anyone yada yada yada, common sense. After zoning out for a while the teacher announced that we were having some free time to interact with everyone. I shakily stood up at walk to the carpeted area of the room where everyone else went to. I decided to stay back just a few feet away and just watched everyone else. No one seemed to notice me. This went on seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years. I was constantly left behind or ignored by everyone. I didn’t try to talk to anyone anymore, I learned my lesson a long time ago. During recess one day, I tried to join a game of tag with some of the kids in my 2nd grade class. Yes, I spent those two years in school alone. As I approached the group of kids by the metal fence I heard talking about the rules of the game. They all grew silent as I walked up to them. “ Can I play too” I said with a hopeful smile on my face. I was so naive. There was a pause, until one of the kids spoke up.
“Why should we let some Mexican play with us”. Who knew eight year olds could be so cruel? I started at them for a while, until a boy broke away from the group and stormed towards me. I didn’t even have time to register

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