Dear White Person Who Just Found Out I’m Puerto Rican,
I’m Puerto Rican, and that’s going to come up in conversation with me. The reveal could look like a few different things, including an anecdote about my father, a comment about race, or a warning for you to stop saying the thing you’re about to say about Latinos. I might say it because you tell me I look exotic and are curious about my background. I might also mention it because it’s el elefante in the room—I know you know I’m something, and you want to know what that something is. So here it is: I’m Puerto Rican.
My mother is Jewish, of Eastern European descent, and was raised in the Bronx. My father was born in Puerto Rico and moved to New York City when he was ten years old. I identify as Latinx. When I tell you this, please don’t ask me why. I just do. I have a Latinx first name and surname. I had an abuela. I get tan in the sun, not burned. And I’m a single mother of three children. Isn’t that enough for you?