I was born in California USA, my parents were born in Texas USA, and my grandparents were born in Mexico. I was raised in the very homogeneous Walnut Creek, California in the 1970s and '80s when it was very Anglo and middle class.
There were few people of color in my high school and I sometimes say that I was a teenage white girl, but that's not completely true. My parents taught me a decent Spanish accent and were very connected to the Mexican American communities of nearby towns. Walnut Creek was very white, but nearby cities such as San Francisco, Pittsburg and Martinez were not.
Because my main contact with other Mexicans and Mexican Americans happened only on weekends, vacations and special occasions, it seemed to me that Mexican music, Spanish speaking and tamales were the stuff of a very specific demographic: adults. Spanish was the language of old people, wheezed out in cumin-scented living rooms that had plastic on the furniture. Tardeadas (big afternoon parties) and weddings had Mexican American kids, but they seemed foreign to me, which I suppose is ironic. Like many American kids, I rarely interacted with people who were outside of my school or my city. I just wasn't used to seeing people with brown skin, besides my immediate family.
In Walnut Creek at Las Lomas High School, I dated Anglo, middle-class boys. The awkward, funny, translucent-white male was almost my only option. When I came into contact with Latinos my age, in one of the neighboring cities, I felt ashamed because I wasn't as Mexican as they were. I wasn't authentic. My Spanish wasn't native, I sounded white and I dressed like everyone else at Las Lomas, not like Mexican Americans who went to school with mostly Latinos. Being a brown girl raised in a white environment was often confusing. My self esteem wasn't high.
Our union never faced any resistance from family or friends and any tension is strictly internal to our marriage. I admit the cultural differences between me and Bob are an integral part of our dynamic. He's kind of exotic to me: the constellation of freckles that cover his face, arms and torso, his limbs that go on for days, his Midwestern manners, his dialect and his vocabulary all fascinate me. We're learning a lot from this 24/7 cultural exchange. For instance, I had no idea how white Midwesterners like Bob handle conflict, but now I do. It's very different from the let's-get-it-out-on-the-table approach I and my family tend to use.
Every once in a while I'll notice someone looking at me and Bob when we're out in public and I usually assume it's because we're a tall white man and a short brown woman, but it might not be. I'm aware of the prejudices against dating someone of a different color and specifically those against a woman of color marrying a white man, but I haven't felt this bigotry touch me.
What is remarkable is when I'm talking with a white friend or acquaintance and I refer to me and Bob as an interracial couple and she responds with, "I don't think of you as an interracial couple." My acquaintances who are people of color haven't said this to me. Why do white people sometimes say it? It reminds me of times when I call myself short and someone says, "I don't think of you as short." It's like they're trying to be nice by denying what I've just said.
I don't think of you as an interracial couple. Maybe the person wants to make clear that she isn't racist and doesn't think that way or that she's okay with me being a Mexican who's married to a white man. Or it could simply be that she doesn't think of me as Mexican, just as she doesn't think of me as short. But there's nothing wrong with being short or Mexican or in an interracial couple. Doesn't everyone know that?
I don't think of you as an interracial couple sounds like you're okay with me, Regina, no matter what names you want to call yourself. Anyone else have any ideas? Please weigh in if you do.
But rather than feel erased by people who think I'm no different from Bob, I appreciate this marriage because this relationship makes me feel more Mexican than I've ever felt. In the context of Bob's life and family, I'm the real deal. I speak Spanish and have hundreds of memories of food, music, tradition and idioms that are specifically Mexican American. Bob can never step into this experience with me, which marks me as the ethnic one, a role that I've often felt doubtful about.
Being in an interracial marriage works very well for me. For most of my life I've uncomfortably straddled the cultures of the whites and the Latinos. But with Bob my life finally feels unquestionable: he's the white one and I'm the brown one. There's no doubting that and it feels good.