I Erased My Ethnicity to Blend In — But at What Cost?

After years of assimilation, I relearned the importance of loving myself — and my Puerto Rican culture — in full

First days of swim team, one of my first steps towards assimilating to life in the States. Courtesy of author.

Once upon a time on a Caribbean island, I would climb palms, knock down coconuts, and sell them for a dollar. But 35 years have passed since my family left Puerto Rico for the States. That’s three decades for this transplant to sprout new roots, time enough to bear three ripened fruits of my own.

My core formed on the tiny tropical island of Puerto Rico. Surrounded by the different hues of Caribbean blues, I grew up swimming anywhere that kept me cool. Then, when I turned 10, my dad’s government job transferred him to Texas. So we traded long, wistful days of beaches and swimming pools for the land of big hair, country music, and Friday night lights.

Soon after my parents bought our Plano, Texas home, a neighbor welcomed us by spray painting a slur on it. “Friends” prank called me and toilet papered our yard. Racist “greaser” jeers followed me down middle school halls.

Petrified, I tried to assimilate. My style went from surfer boy to that of Carlton Banks. I hid my curls under carefully curved baseball caps and traded pool play for structured swim team laps. Like a Judas, I disowned the…