I believe that all colors are equal.
As I stand in line waiting it for to move up, two peach colored boy’s hover over me and ask me “Are you a beaner?” turning around and controlling my anger, the other peach colored boy blurts out, “Did you hop the fence?” I felt my blood rush to my face my body warmed, heated. Again trying to control my anger I pay no attention to them. I bit my tongue so I don’t spit something out that I would regret later, I tried to play it cool so I just pretended that had never occurred, I had to be strong and pretend that the fact that he had just made fun of me didn’t hurt but really it did it felt as if I had just been hit by something I had no idea was coming.
Being one out of the some with colored skin, I hated the color of my skin, light brown. I always tried to cover my skin with sweatshirts with sleeves longer than necessary. I used it to cover the difference between me and the other color. My dad told me to never be ashamed of what I am and that I was just letting it get to me, but really he didn’t know what it felt like to be made fun of your skin color or race. My dad was born and raised in México and so was my mom, so they didn’t really know how I felt when the other kids made fun of me at school. They didn’t know how it felt to be hit by something that you didn’t see coming. They didn’t know how it felt to be the only Mexican in school, the only person who had a different color, the outcast.
Being made fun about my skin color has hit me in the face so hard that it has scared me to believe that all colors are equal. I believe that going through this has changed me in a way that makes me want to know why they think my color skin makes me different from anybody in this world; maybe some are wealthier than other or have more friends. I believe that we can all be equal even though we may be a different color. Going through this has helped me mature and think different of what people think of me. Some people think that just because people of different skin color are born bad, but they just won’t give me and other people a chance. Being a different color should never be a way to judge anybody, judge me from the inside then the out.
Now I realize that I wasted my time feeling in feeling sorry for myself. I should have been proud of what i am a “beaner.” Now when people call me a name that has to do with my color I just sit there and tell them “ Mexican and proud of it!” I am who I am and nobody can change that me so why feel bad when I can be free to be my color and proud of it.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.