- 8 years ago
- Wedding: March 2010
Hi bees! I’m a bee with a high post count, but I have gone incognito in order to write what is the most foolish post you’ll ever read.
I’m a type A personality. Professional. Scientist. I am sane, rational, and methodical in all parts of my life. However, I have a serious issue that is affecting my life.
And feel free to say that I’m absolutely ridiculous. But, I’m posting in a desperate attempt to get some perspective.
I’m happily married to my husband, who is of Italian, Irish, and English heritage. Blond, blue eyed, and fair skinned.
I am of Mexican decent on both sides, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Not the darkest, but not light either. In the past few years, I have been stopped by people no less than once a week or so asking me “where I’m from.” And when I honestly answer, “The United States,” they say, “No, no! Where are you FROM?”
I have absolutely no accent when I speak. My speech is more clear than the majority of newscasters on television. I wear nothing exotic, unless you consider Old Navy to be particularly ethnic.
As a result, I have seriously developed an insecurity. I say to myself, “Are you kidding me? Do I honestly look so different that it needs to be acknowledged?!”
Where I grew up, we all looked the same. And if you were blond or blue eyed, you were incredibly exotic and desirable. As a result, I grew up feeling like people of fairer features were inherently superior in some fashion. As an adult, this hasn’t left me, and each time I’m stopped and asked about my heritage, I’m seriously bothered.
Frankly, I had to cross Arizona off my list of places to live, because I feel like after my experience on the East coast where I am I’m going to be stopped daily and asked for my “papers.”
I had one older woman, when she found out I was Mexican-American in casual conversation, enthusastically tell me that she totally agreed because she could “see the Indian profile to your nose and face.” Where I come from, telling a Mexican they look like an Indian is a downright slur. But, poor woman, she didn’t know any of that, so I sat and bit my cheek and smiled graciously. It made me feel embarassed and shameful.
SO. Today, I sit here, really bothered by the last Arab guy who inquired in the Drive Thru as to whether I spoke Arabic, and I start thinking about the future. About children. And I find myself paralyzed by the most ridiculous fear.
I don’t want to have kids because I’m terrified they’ll look just like me. Dark hair, dark eyes, downright boring and apparantly un-American.
Genetics is completely against me on this one. I have one grandmother with green eyes, but the rest of them look just like me. There is no hope, in my opinion, of having a child that looks like my husband and THAT IN AN OF ITSELF is depressing. His entire family tree on all sides has fair skin and light eyes – each and every one of them! And, I honestly feel like I’m going to muddy the water. I’m going to ruin what is a pretty good streak.
So here it is, the stupidist post here on WeddingBee. I honestly don’t think I can have kids with my husband because they might just have to live their lives being singled out like me. And maybe I don’t blame them for singling me out – perhaps my combination of olive skin, brown eyes and brown hair is downright hideous.
Oh, and by the way: I’ve never experienced what is commonly called “racism.” I didn’t learn any ethnic slurs against Mexicans until I was well into my twenties, because we never heard them where I grew up. If someone behaved in a racist manner toward me, I’d probably fall over laughing and NOT ONE of the people who stop me regularly to ask “where I’m from” is rude, condescending or biased. This is an issue of COLORATION, not ethnicity. The only reason I mention my ethnicity is so you get an image of my features.