“Go home, freshmen!” the upperclassmen shouted at the homecoming game. Ignoring them was difficult, but I knew my friends and I deserved to be there. It was our school too.
We lost the game 54 to nothing, but we supported our team with strong school spirit. I had a great time at my first homecoming football game – until it was time to leave.
“We need President Trump to get rid of all the Mexicans,” I overheard someone say.
Without thinking, I said “I’m Mexican” at a volume that I didn’t think would be heard over the noise of hundreds of students. To my surprise, I was wrong.
“Go back to where you came from! You don’t belong here!” the voice shouted back.
Her words took me back in time. An Italian man who looked like Mario with his short stature, big nose, and mustache was at my house installing our new furnace. When he was done, my dad handed him a check. The man looked at the signature at the bottom and asked,
“… is that Italian?”
It’s a question we received often.
“No, actually, we’re Mexican,” my dad replied. The man looked up at me, a fourth grader, and said, “You better not tell anyone you’re Mexican if you ever want to get a boyfriend!”
I was confused by his remark, but I hid the fact that I was offended. His words made me think. Could he be right? Should I hide who I am?
I have always been fascinated by my family’s history. It was a story I loved to talk about and sometimes even wrote about at school. However, after hearing these words from people I didn’t know, I no longer wanted to tell people who I was or where my family was from. This upset me tremendously because my family means so much to me, and I’m very proud of where I come from.
I eventually convinced myself that what they said wasn’t important and was far from true. My family is full of hard workers, and we’re good people. Why should I listen to this man, this anonymous girl, who have no idea who I am?
It took me a while to regain my pride, but my own thoughts began to overpower those implanted in my head by the prejudiced people who made me feel ashamed for myself and my family.
The homecoming game empowered me to see that I belong at the game, even as a freshman. The girl in the stands who told me to go back where I came from taught me that I belong where I am. I’m from here. The words of the people who made me want to hide who I am, taught me to love myself and my origins. They taught me that I belong here because my ancestors worked hard to give me the life that I have. From them I’ve learned – I belong.