My mother raised me as a southern belle. I grew up in a little town 20 miles south of Nashville, Tennesee. I embraced southern charms, my drawl, and the expectations to be “ladylike” on most occasions. However, my father taught me how to bait my own hooks and that if I was going to learn how to drive, it would have to be on a stick shift. My dad was the only father I knew, although he adopted me at the age of four. My biological father had been abusive to my mother, physically forcing her into drug addiction. His presence in my mother’s life resulted in my premature birth and drug addicted beginning. But, that was in Corpus Christi, Texas. My mother left her “Tex-Mex” family and culture behind when she met my dad …show more content…
In elementary school, children would often ask about my dark traits. Generally, the questions were “What are you? Are you Chinese? Are you a gypsy? Are you mixed?” The answer was, "I am American", but I did not know that was the answer. My always drunken uncle told me, I was a “Mexican”. He would torment me, and no one ever stopped him. He used racial slurs towards me, which I did not understand at the time, but makes me cringe today when I think of them. My “adopted” side of the family did not hold back when it came to using politically incorrect terminology. I grew up hearing the N* word, and every possible slur you could imagine to describe anyone who was different. I became so ashamed of being Hispanic that I learned to wish on the stars, reciting a rhyme my mother taught me, to wish for lighter skin, hair, and eyes. No matter how much I prayed or how much I wished, neither the stars nor God ever delivered. My aunt Sukki was Korean, and I never heard anyone speak badly of her. She was more Korean, than I was Mexican. She spoke with broken English; she was Buddhist and ate Korean food daily. I, on the other hand was “pretty white”, except I had a tan throughout the