Color me....right.

I had a great kindergarten teacher. Really. From pulling teeth to reading aloud to throwing 100th-day-of-school parties: this lady had it down. We all loved her, but knew there was one issue she was very strict about. When coloring, we had to use the correct colors. It did not matter that we were 5 and 6: Squirrels are not green and trees are not purple, and if we colored them this way, we were told to redo it. I´m still not really sure why, but it´s something that has stuck with me.

I´ve found myself thinking about that coloring rule a lot these past months. Because, you see, it is one thing to read about racial diversity/lack thereof and it is quite another to be the only blonde ponytail in a classroom of 45.

I am not dealing with discrimination/bullying at all. I have some great friends, and the fact that I can speak Spanish pretty well now helps a lot. I don´t feel like people are treating badly….still…..It is surreal to stick out like this. I already said that there isn´t much (read: any) Tourism appeal to my city, and so there aren´t very many foreigners here. There are a few European exchangers and an American too, but I still attract a lot of attention walking. I also attract attention in Restaurants. And stores. And school. And, ok, you get the point. This is something that I have literally NEVER experienced before.

Growing up in the Midwest, I have been surrounded by pale skin and blue eyes my whole life. Now I find myself referred to/called by my hair or skin color on a daily basis. Gringa, Guerra (sp?), Blanca, Rubia…. At least there´s never any confusion who´s being referred to.

You see, I have a skin tone that inspires self-congratulatory high-fives amongst sun screen manufacturers. While I was still living in the U.S. I got an endless stream of comments. One morning last Spring, I had this conversation with my math teacher in front of the class:

“WOW Elaine, are you sick?”

           “Nope. Feel pretty good.”

“Are you sure? You just look SO pale.”

          “This is my skin color.”

“I think it´s because your shirt is a bright color and then it´s just…..WHITE.”

              “Can I sit down now?”

Another teacher once told a story, in which the blizzard was as “White as Elaine….(pregnant pause)….´s sweatshirt”. Before I left for Mexico, back in Grand Rapids, I had a Mexican inbound inform me that I was very white “Even for an American”. You´re starting to imagine how I stand out here. This is one reason why I am not considering dying my hair. I don´t think I´d be an especially sparkly vampire.

It´s funny, but at the same time, it frustrates me to know that 8 months from now (Yes, I´ll still be here) when my Spanish is near perfect, and I´m thinking like a Mexican, people on the street will still pick me out as an “Extranjera”. They will still ask if I´m lost. I will still look like I don´t belong here. My accent won´t ever counteract my skin color and that´s something I have no control over.

So deep down, I know there are whole countries full of people who look like me. I know that this is one year of my life, and it isn´t going to kill me. I know that I´m learning some great first-hand lessons about race, and the people who are really important (My friends and host family) are the ones whose opinions matter.

Nonetheless, there are still times when after a really long day, I look in the mirror and can´t help but think that if Mrs. Schroeder was here, she would give me a “Nice Effort” sticker and tell me to try again. The coloring just isn´t quite right.