I think one of the worst things here is when people talk to me in English.
I never understood why that man with the truck with the Mexican flag sticker yelled at me when I kindly asked him,
"Puede mover su camión por favor?"
"I SPEAK ENGLISH YOU KNOW!"
Me too. And Spanish, what's your point?
Now I understand the point.
I understand how demeaning it came across.
Beneath it all it screams,
"You are not one of us, and I can tell, and I will show this by using your language, since clearly you cannot use mine."
You are not one of us.
I was impaced by that event in the Olvera St. parking lot my freshman year of college, and now I know why it stuck with me. You are not one of us.
I will never be one of you.
But where will I be one of me?