White with Brown Roots: On being the American Daughter of my Mexican Immigrant Dad
I’m first generation white, on my dad’s side. He immigrated to the US from Mexico as a young man and worked incredibly hard to assimilate. He took speech therapy to “overcome” his accent, believing that it would give him more opportunities. He worked 3 jobs, literally around the clock, while also attending college when I was little. I remember attending his college graduation when I was in 2nd grade. I wore a pink dress my mom made and the man in front of me complained twice that I was kicking his seat. He never got a job that utilized his accounting degree, he believes because he didn’t look or talk like the other accountants. But he had steady employment working for the Chicago Northwestern railroad, although he told my mom stories of enduring racial harrassment from time to time.
My dad moved to America, worked harder than anyone I know, and possibly also married and had lighter skin children, so that his family would never experience the deprivation that he knew growing up. When asked if he believed in God, he told a story of tooth pain so intense as a child, and his unanswered prayers for relief. He stopped believing in God largely because his parents couldn’t afford the dentist. Although he had close siblings and a sainted mother in his eyes, as is often the case in impoverished families, the…
