As a young girl I used to spend an abundance of time at my cousin Sonia’s house while my dad was at work. I’d sit down in front of the TV watching cartoons on PBS while Sonia was cooking.

I remember one day when I was about eight, she called me into the kitchen for lunch. I walked to my chair and sat down, and she placed a plate in front of me. She had made rice, but this rice was different than any I’d ever eaten. It was orange and had beans and meat that I couldn’t identify mixed in with it. I am a picky eater and I don’t like when my foods touch each other. So I began to separate the unfamiliar foods from the rice. Sonia noticed almost immediately. She looked confused and asked what I was doing.

I explained that I was taking out the stuff I didn’t like. She told me, “This is Spanish rice, you’re supposed to eat it with everything in it. You’re Puerto Rican you have to like Spanish rice!” I stared blankly at her because I was confused. What did that mean? My cousin repeated, “You’re Puerto Rican.”

I sat there looking at her, and she began laughing. “You’re Puerto Rican,” she repeated. I thought she was making fun of me because she was laughing, so I shouted, “No, I’m not!!!” and she laughed even harder. That is when my dad walked in, still in his work uniform. I ran to him and hugged him. Sonia yelled from across the room, “Chepo, mira” (Chepo being my dad’s nickname and mira meaning “look”). Once again she repeated, “Alicia, you’re Puerto Rican!” I began to cry and yelled, “NO, I’M NOT!!!” My dad and cousin both began to laugh and continued to tell me I was Puerto Rican to get a reaction out of me.

To my embarrassment, this became an ongoing joke that lasted years.

I still didn’t quite understand what they meant until one day we were talking about ethnicity in 5th grade history class. I finally understood why they were laughing at me and I felt stupid. I thought they were insulting me all this time, but they were just telling where I was from. They were laughing because I didn’t understand.

Fast forward to Christmas, I was super impatient, as most children are when opening presents. My sister had just opened one of hers, and now it was my turn. I grabbed a perfectly wrapped rectangular box from under the Christmas tree and tore it open. I took the top off of the box and inside was a pink shirt. I grabbed it and held it up to read it. It said, “Puerto Rican and Proud” and had the Puerto Rico flag on it. I glared at my dad and he began to laugh. I tossed it to the side, not giving him the satisfaction of getting frustrated over his joke, and Christmas continued.

That shirt stayed bunched up in the back of my shirt drawer for years because I didn’t want to participate in my dad’s amusement. I never wore it. Three years later I was cleaning out my drawers and threw the shirt in a pile to be donated to Goodwill, still brand new.

Looking back, one of my biggest regrets is not wearing that shirt. I wish I had not cared about my dad getting a laugh. I wish I had been confident enough to wear my ethnicity proudly. I know now that I should be proud of my ethnicity and the culture that comes along with it. Proud of all the delicious food and the language and the music and the dancing, because it’s truly beautiful. I am now extremely proud to be Puerto Rican and I know if I found that shirt bunched up in my drawer now, I’d take it out, iron out the wrinkles and wear it proudly.

© Alicia. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.