Yesterday, I was taking the baby for a walk, when we passed two Hispanic guys who were rebuilding a porch. My boy smiled big & waved, cuz that's what he does, and one of the guys saw him, & his face lit up. He waved back, “Hello, Guerito!”
I laughed, “That's funny, because that's what I call him!”
I'm not sure the guy really heard me, because he said something in Spanish to his friend, about my boy's resemblance to a guero he knows (for those of you, a guero is a blond Mexican.), although my Spanish isn't that good, and neither is my hearing, so I have no idea what his friend replied to him.
Just to clarify, I called back over my shoulder as I passed, pointing to my son, “Su Papa es Mexicano!”
The guy's face froze. Lilly white as me and the boy are, I don't think he expected me to understand any of their conversation. And it was a little irreverent, considering how sensitive people can be about race. "Oh. Sorry!" he called, complimenting my stroller, which was a nice gesture, but not necessary, as I found the whole thing funny.
See, I had been going around calling him White Boy for months, because, frankly, he is, and people were looking askance at me. At our house, we adore diversity, and it's said with all the love in the world, and he is shockingly blonde next to his sister.
Then he started pinching people. Ok, I know it's temporary. His sister was a biter. And a headbutter. But it's annoying. So I was scolding him, “Knock it off, Pinchy Boy!” cuz I was really irritated, and I muttered to myself, “Pinche guerito...” which I thought was incredibly funny, and I started cracking up. And then I couldn't stop thinking it, and I said it way too much, even though I know it's a bit off color, & I shouldn't talk about my kid that way.
(Although I think all comedy writers' kids have to become thick-skinned. MY mom was merely funny, and I had to learn to take it. Sometimes making fun of your kids is kinder than punishing them and easier than micro-managing. But I digress.)

My favorite part about Hispanics being the largest “minority” in the US, besides the fact that I got to marry into a big, wonderful, hilarious, loving, Mexican family, is that there are people speaking Spanish everywhere, and it's helping Americans break down their weird refusal to learn other languages.
I myself have learned a bit of practical & conversational Spanish in the kitchens of America. Regardless of whatever laws or public opinion say, if it weren't for Latin American immigrants, there would be a mountain of unwashed dishes & unprepped produce in this country. Those of you who grow &/or prepare food for a living know what I'm talking about. And, since this is my soapbox, let me just say that if you work side by side with someone who is working to understand English, and you don't make any effort to communicate in their language, even just to say good morning, then I think you're a pig. Go back to England.

See, being Mexican in Texas is different than being Mexican in Oregon. Dingo & I were watching something on TV about people's border-crossing stories, so he got to wondering about his family, and he asked his mom, “When did our family emigrate? Was it my grandparents?” and his mom set him straight. His family never emigrated. The US just moved the border.
Signage in Texas is in Spanish. The frikkin Alamo is there, man. The way Dingo put it: ”This WAS Mexico.” Dingo's mom was telling me recently that people there are still pretty much divided geographically by race, with a “Mexican” neighborhood, “Black” neighborhood, etc. So there's a strong sense of ethnicity.
Up here, if you have an accent, people talk loud at you, or just kind of ignore you. Not everyone, but it happens a lot. But that prejudice pretty much stops with the immigrant generation. Kids who speak Oregonian English are used to a lively cultural mix, and there are lots of bilingual kids, from around the globe.
And because we LOVE diversity, we've mated a lot, and most of the kids run some shade of middle-to-light brown, with some blondies , redheads, and ebony mixed in for a bit of sparkle. My redheaded friend Imma Lou calls it “the genetic lottery.”
I know a middle school girl who was steaming mad, because the class was talking about Immigration, and she said her family was Mexican, because they are. Spanish is her first language. But there was a kid in the class who insisted she was lying, because she is blonde.

So, those carpenters weren't the only people who are surprised when I say stuff in Spanish. At Dingo's Sister's wedding, I cracked a joke that sent both D & his stepdad reeling.
My daughter was asking what a reception was, and what we would be doing there. I said, “People let their hair down at the reception.”
She answered, “my hair's not up.”
I had to think. Rephrase.
I had been scolding her all morning, as she had picked out dainty, delicate, pinchy little shoes, as is the fashion at weddings, but instead of mincing hers steps & muttering to herself about tight shoes, like everyone else, my little Amazon was freeclimbing the rock wall of the church, saying the pointy toes help her get a foothold. The shoes were shredded.
I said, “You know how I've been grouchy about manners all day? How I keep saying 'that's rude to do at a wedding,' like when you were climbing that wall?”
“Yeah,” she was still with me.
“Well, now we're going to a kind of party, where you can dance, & run around, & relax & let your wedding manners go.” And here's were I made the fatal crack: “It goes from 'pinchy shoes' to 'pinche zapatos,'” and I pantomimed kicking off tight shoes.
As the child nodded her understanding, laughter erupted behind me, and my husband howled, “What did you just say? Did you just make an off-color, bi-lingual joke?” And then he made me repeat it to everyone for the next two days, and I got really embarrassed, and my father-sort-of-in-law started peppering me with questions in Spanish, to see if I'd answer, and I'm white enough to blush pretty bright.
(So comedy writers have to become, ourselves, thick-skinned, I guess.)
And, to my credit, I have not once poked fun at my son's ethnicity, or called him pinche anything since that day. Although now that a stranger has pointed it out, I really think “guerito” suits him. He's basically a small, blonde Dingo.