#gonna have my bestie read it when I'm done so she can affirm that I am indeed not a failure

[stolen-pen-name23]

ok back up, bestie. i'm gonna need you to explain that last name thing

Woo okay, storytime kids. tw racism I guess?

I mentioned in the tags of this post that I have had two different last names even though I've never been married. I'm half-Hispanic. My father is a first-generation American and my grandparents are from Spain and Mexico.

Something to know about my dad: he's a genius. A literal genius. Everyone thinks their dads are really smart, but mine actually is. He has 3 degrees and he got 4.0s for all of them (bachelor's in architecture, bachelor's in structural engineering, and masters in business). The man can do calculus in his head. He knows the answers to questions before everyone else is even done reading them. He's not just good at math either. He speaks multiple languages, can read really fast, is a talented artist and all that. I'm smart, but not like him. I'm talented, but not like him. It's a lot to live up to honestly.

He hates people because they all bore him to death. He's not social, he's not affectionate, he's not friendly, but he is an exceptionally hard worker. He grew up with nothing. His family was very poor. He had to learn English in elementary school. There was no money. Sometimes he would go days without eating anything from the time he was a kid into his time in college. His genius got him into college, not his money. He is deserving. He is hardworking. And he is Hispanic.

After he graduated from college, he immediately was hired at an engineering firm. Naturally, he excelled. He was promoted quickly and over men who had been there much longer than some 20-something Mexican kid. He was relentlessly tormented, primarily over his race. The thing that was often repeated was "he only got here because of affirmative action" and "he's the diversity hire."

Another thing about my dad. He is white passing. His hair and eyes are dark and he tans easily, but if he doesn't get too much sun, he becomes very racially ambiguous. Knowing this, my father made a decision.

When my mother became pregnant with my little sister, my father decided to change our last name. He changed it to a white last name. A common last name. A strong last name. (No it's not Smith, and no, I'm not going to tell you what it is). He decided he would not teach me or my sister Spanish. We are Americans, he would say. Americans speak English, he would say. He shrugged off his Catholocisim. He always had a hard time believing, as geniuses often do. It was not difficult for him to let go of that. He decided his daughters would never be the diversity hire. He did not want us to have our achievements discounted because of our race. Everything we did, we would earn ourselves and there would be no room for argument over it.

I was three when my sister was born, so I had my hispanic last name for three years before it was changed legally on my behalf. My birth certificate is three years younger than me.

My sister is white passing now. Her skin became less tan after puberty. But when we were younger, she had brown skin and her hair has always been a dark brunette and her eyes have always been so dark they are almost black. Nowadays, she is white passing, but in her youth, she was definitely treated differently than I was.

I am white. I have pale skin, strawberry-blonde hair, green eyes, the works. My accent is American. I have a very white name. I will never receive the racism my own blood receives or has received.

For this privilege, my only sacrifice was half of my heritage.