I remember  the eyes that looked down upon me, people muttering, “You were bleached at birth!” Brown features melted off my bones and became replaced by a caucasian  complexion. They were the faces that I grew up with, the ones that shared my language and traditions. Despite this, I had to prove that I was just as Mexican as the rest of them.

I saw the way my people were depicted as “rapists, illegals, and drug dealers.”  They never looked like me, but I was baffled by the wounds that formed in the skin that was supposed to reflect mine. I grew tired of blending in for the sake of shielding myself from my own people, and from the people that resented us. I decided to be involved in the Migrant Ed Program.

For once, I didn’t feel outcast by the people I tried to seek comfort from because they were children that looked into my blue eyes and  accepted my differences. I learned that a child's eyes don't see color, but a future,  so I spent as many summers as I could as a teacher’s aide helping my hispanic community. Just as I was fearful of diving into my hispanic culture, I encountered children too afraid to dive into American culture. I remember the children who did not understand English and teachers that lacked the patience to assist them. I took it upon myself to work with them to teach both math and language arts, switching between languages to accommodate their needs. I became not only a mentor-- but a friend. I was there for the kids  who fell on the playground and scraped their knee, for the kids in special life skills classes that were ostracized by their peers, and for the elementary students that were moving on to a new chapter in their life.    

I did not let my skin define who I was. And the kids I work for don’t represent what we see on television. I spend my summers breaking down these barriers, hoping to inspire a new generation, one without only brown and white.