Coffee With Cream: Growing Up Biracial With Latina and American Identities

Abstract

Opening Paragraph|When Mom told me I should fill out "Hispanic" on those standardized test sheets, I did as I was told. Around 4th grade I started questioning if I could really do that though. I would ask her, "Mom, are you sure I'm allowed to fill that in? Isn't that kind of cheating? María Sofía," she'd respond, using my full name to emphasize her seriousness, "You are Hispanic. So you fill out Hispanic." "I'm half Hispanic," I'd mutter, unable to hide my skepticism of her claim. "You came out of a Mexican womb, sweetie, you're a full Mexican. No digas esas tonterías. Don't say foolish things like that."