It may or may not be faith-related.
But one thing's for sure, it will probably be a ridiculous story.
Let's be honest, ridiculousness happens to me more often than I'd like.
So here it is, the story of when I was convinced I was white.
The other day I met my dad downtown for one of our bike rides. We always bike on Town Lake (or Lady Bird Lake for all you non-Austinites) and we usually meet up down there.
So my dad rolls up on his bike and says:
"Hey Traci, I got something for you."
"Oh yeah, what is it?"
"It's your birth certificate."
*well I am glad my dad felt his biking skills were mad enough for him to bike downtown with it hanging out his back pocket. thanks padre.*
As I open up my birth certificate to look at it for the first time ever I see one thing that rocks my world.
It says my parents are WHITE.
"Dad, am I white?"
"Traci, what are you talking about?"
"My birth certificate says that y'all are white."
*Dad just blows it off as he starts to take off on our ride*
"Dad, why is this not a big deal to you, it says that I am white!! I thought I was Mexican!! Have the past 28 years been a lie??"
My dad never responded. He just laughed at me.
Later I told my mom that my birth certificate said that they were white. And she laughed at me as well.
Looking back on it I realize that we are obviously not white, however that would explain how I can not properly pronounce my last name, or how I avoid the mariachis like the plague. Or how Tejano music just doesn't get my juices flowing.
But despite all that I am indeed Hispanic, so no need to panic.
And that's the story of that one time when I thought I was white.
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| No need to adjust the color on your screen. This is a tan I got after working at a summer camp. Mexican indeed. |
