Was I an American? A Mexican? A Filipino? I had relatives from more than one culture, from different parts of the country as well as different parts of the world. They looked different than I did. A few had my complexion. Or my hair. Or my frame. But no one looked quite like me.
My only sibling passed as white, since she was a brunette with fair skin and straight hair. I, on the other hand, was often mistaken for being full-blooded Mexican, not only due to my looks but because we lived only forty miles from the border. That assumption by many — the effects of colorism — lead to many questions (what today we call microaggressions) from my classmates, teachers, teammates, and yes, even my own family.