Racist or a Product of Survival?

Am I a racist? For as long as I can remember I have just kept quiet when people vented their hatred of my skin color at me. Being quiet meant being safe in the sense that I’m not allowing the situation to escalate further.

Being spat on and having the people spit on the floor and tell me to eat their mucus as they called me a spic, beaner, wetback amongst other names. Called a dog and chased down hallways at high school, bullied for having brown skin, eyes and hair. Enduring the hate in the eyes of extremists as I help them at the local emergency room. Being overlooked and when noticed, looked down on and dismissed at my local church for being the “Latina” by my “sisters in Christ”. Being spoken down to, spoken over and dismissed while presenting new ideas as I Co-chair a local coalition that is completely Caucasian. I feel like the brown speck in the white chicken crap. Should I shoulder on and stand my ground—or just accept the invitation to join my brothers and sisters at the local Reservation?

I did not understand what my offense was. When I walk out the door at home I don’t check my skin color. I just am—soy yo.

Now I’m older, still have my skin color and ethnicity. Those insults that I endured all my life may have affected me.

I chose to marry and have children with Caucasian men. Divorced by 22, widowed by 36 and finally at peace with final husband. My question is why did/do the men I chose have green eyes, fair skin and light hair? Was I hiding my DNA or an unknowing product of my evolution? Did I want to spare any potential children from enduring what I have lived with?

I’m glad to be who I am. An Asian/Latina with many talents and gifts. I will no longer hold my civil tongue as those who chose to throw venom at me continue their ways.