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Vice President-elect Kamala Harris speaks in Wilmington, Del., Nov. 7, 2020. When Kamala Harris stepped onto the stage and into history at the Chase Center in Wilmington, Del., as Vice President-elect of the United States, she did so in full recognition of the weight of the moment, and in full acknowledgment of all who came before. (Erin Schaff/The New York Times)
ERIN SCHAFF, STF / NYTMy memories of Christmas Eve dinner in Monterrey, Mexico, don’t include the usual rectangular Styrofoam plate topped with tamales, rice and beans. It’s the large bag of dried shiitake mushrooms my Uncle Henry used to bring from Mexico City that sat in the kitchen while my Tía Ana boiled the noodles for the chow mein.
Just like Kamala Harris, my mother is multiracial. Harris is South Asian and Black, and my mother is Chinese and Mexican. I, however, am a triple threat. Mexican, Chinese and Spanish; my father is from Barcelona. I’ve answered the question “What are you?” probably more times than I should have. But hopefully thanks to Harris, I won’t have to as much now.
Harris isn’t an anomaly, and I’m not either. There are lots of us out there. Mixed-race people are among the fastest-growing segments of the U.S. population, according to the Census Bureau.
Growing up in my majority-white Southern town in Florida, I didn’t see the countless others who looked like me, and I didn’t have someone to look up to. I remember wishing the Asian Power Ranger was just a little bit darker skinned so I could fit in on Halloween.
People would tell me to “pick one.” Are you Mexican or Spanish? What about Chinese? It was too much for some to understand. Trying to explain the Chinese diaspora in middle school as a reason why you had seaweed in your lunch is an awkward way to make friends. I don’t speak Chinese, either. I speak Spanish, or rather a mix and match of Norteño dialect with the formal Castellano form of usted.
It was confusing, not just for my middle school friends, but for me, too. I tried to assimilate the best I could to show others that I wasn’t scary, just a little bit different. I straightened my hair and refused to speak Spanish. I refused to wear the floral-patterned blouses my uncle would send from Mexico and clung to my Abercrombie & Fitch collared shirts.
It wasn’t until my 20s that I learned to feel comfortable with myself. Now, being multiracial isn’t confusing to me, it’s just who I am. And it’s refreshing, validating and powerful for me to see Harris so confident. She can cook Indian food with Mindy Kaling and dance to a drum line at an Iowa steak fry. She not only accepts her diversity, she owns it, and in doing so, she helps me accept myself, too.
Goñi-Lessan is the Houston Chronicle's assistant op-ed editor. Email her at ana.goni-lessan@chron.com
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