Growing up with a mixed heritage has been a double-edged sword for the entirety of my 18-year-old existence. Sometimes, people think that it’s really cool for me to be able to experience multiple cultures in my own home. Other individuals treat me as some party favor, making me teach them inappropriate phrases in Spanish against my will. I am Honduran and Anglo, a proud Virginian, South Carolinian and natural citizen of the United States. There’s nothing I can or want to do about changing my identity. How do you think it you would feel if suddenly your community wanted you to discard your cultural identity? This is a struggle I have faced for a very long time, especially in the public school system.

When I was seven, my family moved down to South Carolina to be closer to my maternal grandparents, who are not Hispanic. I started school late due to the county’s early start date, and I was excited to start somewhere new where I didn’t have to change my name preference back and forth like I did in Virginia. Everything unfortunately spiraled downwards at registration. When talking to the staff, my grandparents were told that because I was Hispanic, I would have to take ESOL, even though I spoke English like every other seven-year-old at that time. My family, as a result, banned everyone from speaking Spanish anymore so that I wouldn’t have to enroll in extra English classes outside of my school time. On top of that I was enrolled in an average level second grade class. I should have been put in the Gifted and Talented class because of my test scores from Virginia, but I had been placed due to my name. Later on in my short life, the treatment would only get worse.

One of the most hurtful string of words I dealt with on a daily basis was “I don’t even know how you’re in this class. This is Honors Seventh Grade English, and you’re just a Stupid Mexican.” I could not fathom why, having grown up in the community from an established family, children decided to reduce all of my hard work and grit to a caricaturized ethnicity that I did and do not belong to. When I confronted my teachers about it, they simply made the child apologize and let him go, not making any effort to address my pain. They decided to just discipline him and get such a task out of their faces for someone else to handle, and other members of the staff assumed a lack of intelligence based on my name alone.

In high school, I almost failed the ninth grade. This wasn’t because I lazed off; it’s not who I am. I faked being sick, making myself throw up with my fingers and purposely wearing out my muscles so I would limp on many occasions. In the classroom, other students constantly asked me to “go over the border and get tacos.” Others asked “Do you speak Mexican?” to which I rebutted because I am not Mexican and have had to relearn Spanish as a whole. I was called dirty and crude, supposedly because my last name meant that I was Mexican. For all intents and purposes, Rodriguez is an incredibly common last name in the Latino community. My identity became a target on my back allowing for harassment daily.

Can you imagine the amount of stress other individuals such as myself experience? We are not your plaything for holidays such as Cinco de Mayo and Dia de Los Muertos; these are facets of Hispanic culture that ought to be appreciated just as we do with Christmas and Thanksgiving. We are not an accessory for your benefit. We are definitely not drug dealers and rapists. Instead, reach out and learn what you can. Participate in cultural events that your school or town advertises. Sometimes, simply being a friend helps; by being there for someone who has been treated poorly due to ethnicity, you show that your friend is not an accessory. The important thing to do is address your ignorance and open your mind. And most of all, never, ever, resort to stereotypes with generic phrases like “So you’re Mexican?” and other ignorant statements.