We pull up to Palace Food Depot, lets say, around noon on a Sunday. My family walks towards the entrance, my Dad walks ahead of my Mom, my brothers and I. We walk down the crowded, noisy, parking lot. That’s when we notice, that La Señora de Los Tamales approaches my Dad and asks the routine “Compra Tamales?”

My Dad, quickly looks over at her, almost alarmed, and responds with the routine “Mañana señora, mañana.”

As the rest of us reach La Señora, she pauses. Looks at us, and hesitantly says, “Would you like to buy Tamales?”

She receives a unanimous “no gracias, para la otra.”

As we walk past her, we all can’t help but laugh. Laugh at the fact that she very specifically spoke to my dad in Spanish and the rest of us in English assuming we were white.

This to me has always been a situation I look back and laugh at. Not necessarily at the woman, but more so at her assumption.

My dad, wearing his cowboy hat, cowboy boots and his sunburnt skin is unmistakably Mexican. Pero los chiquillos, güeros, y la señora igual de güera, quien no se confunde.

As funny as I may find it, this situation has always brought up some critical points for me.

A part of me has always taken pride in the fact that my identity is somewhat of a mystery to others. I’m a light skinned Mexican. So most of the time I’m assumed to be white. Which is something I have fun with. For example, listening in on Spanish conversations and not looking like a metiche. Or, the surprise most Spanish speakers experience when I speak my very fluent Spanish. But this recently led to a realization that has been hard for me to accept…

I have white privilege.

“Que? Cómo cres eso tú, mensa, si todos saben que somos Mexicanos.” Was my mom’s response to my accusation.

But it’s true. It was hard for me to come to accept this realization simply because there’s a clear complication. The struggle between my outward appearance and my very, Mexican identity.

I grew up in a working class, immigrant home. One that was filled with only “español en la casa.” With traditional, Mexican values. And by that I mean the, “vas a misa todos los Domingos,” and “ni creas que va a salir de la casa sin suéter.”

Y que no se me olvide to include the machista complex that overtook my household. O, y tambien all of the Tamales consumed during almost every holiday. Homemade, not purchased from La Señora de los Tamales.

I digress, but the point is, my Mexican values and perspectives simply do not align with those of the White, middle class Woman most of my peers seem to perceive.

Soy Mexicana. Me-ji-cana. No, Mexi- cana. There’s a difference. Y solamente si hablas español entiendes lo que quiero decir.

No tengo el nopal en la frente, but is that the only way to communicate to the public that I am indeed Mexican?

I suppose not. But, acknowledging that I have white privilege is something that brings the responsibility of awareness and action. With that being said, this awareness has brought forth a desire to actively look for avenues in which I can be a source of change. I think its important to be a voice for those that may be afraid to speak out and demand that their own voices be heard, or even fight for their basic rights. I think empowerment is something that should be advocated for in our communities. The harsh reality is that this country favors the white, Caucasian population. Because of this, a sense of inferiority has affected a lot of the Mexican population. In these cases, I think its important to remind this community that we, as immigrants and inhabitants of this country deserve respect, and appreciation as much as any other population.

Furthermore, as a Mexican community, we should strive to be unapologetically daring and persist in the fight that actively seeks to oppress us. As a member of this community, my goal is to use my “white passing” appearance to voice my community’s concerns and needs.