I was playing a game of Chess when this happened:
I don’t know why, but it inspired me. Yes, my last name is Spanish, but I don’t know a goddamn thing about Hispanic culture, I don’t even know Spanish, and I spent my entire childhood about an hour outside of Mexico in what was (at the time) a little toilet of a city at the tip of Texas. I was raised by two white women until my mom remarried to Mr. Smith, and though you may think it doesn’t get any whiter than that, I have paler skin than he does. I’m not saying I’m not proud of my heritage, I’m saying I have a hundred different heritages because I’m an American. This is why I can’t understand why anyone, of all the places in the world, is racist. My Irish grandmother married my Mexican grandfather, and gave birth to the guy who married my mother whose lineage includes Cherokee, German, and Irish. We’re Americans. Sometimes I can hardly believe this is really a post civil-rights movement nation.