The Day I Found out my Wife was Mexican
by Tim Rogers
It wasn't until our son (my wife and mine, not yours and mine) was doing a project for preschool where he had to talk about his genetics or ethnicity or something, that I found out my wife was 3/4ths Mexicans. It was very hard on me. I cough-cried and threw our son's project in the fireplace, and each time he re-did it I kept throwing it in the fireplace, cry-y, and when a fireplace was missing I threw it into a running lawn mower, of which our house is surrounded now that my wife is Mexican to me.
I think back to all the times when she served me tacos, and I thought I was being served by a white, but instead it was a 1/4ths white which is 4/4ths unawesome. It is very hard to have noticed this. Her parents never said "I'm glad we are from Mexico" because they were born in America, but as it turns out you can be born in America and still be Mexican. I know! That's what I said. That means that anyone, at any moment, could turn out to be Mexican even if they aren't wearing traditional sancho hats or whatever, I've never been there. And just think how many people you know may be secret blacks?
I may have gone overboard when I sent our son to the camp that was supposed to teach the Mexican out of kids. It was expensive and put a strain on our bank accounts according to my wife, but I calmly reminded her this wasn't in pesos, and she slapped me which made a whole lot of sense.
I guess I should have seen the hints. I mean, when she was wrapping a burrito and she'd say, "Look Tim, this is how you wrap a burrito," I thought she was just showing me how to wrap a burrito. And normal people can have big families, it didn't mean anything to me at the time.
So what am I going to do? Divorce her? Look, she was white when I fell in love with her, and she can still be white even when she's Mexican. I can learn to deal with it, because I don't see color, just like in African Americans I don't see continent, they're just black to me. And the tensions bubble up out from time to time. When we watched Alien I let it slip that I thought Sigourney Weaver was buxom; my wife got irritated and retorted that Tom Skerritt looked like a gentleman's Gary Busey. I lost it and screeched, "What is this? Montezuma's Revenge, Tonto?" I slammed my nachos onto the coffee table, and in a moment of clarity, peeked up at her to see if she understood the symbology of that act.
Anyway we're, or I'm, coping. I've tried to do things to show her that I am ok with Mexican things now, like eating black beans, cheering for the Denver Broncos, and showing up late to important things.
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