I Have A Note

       Over the years, many have come to know that I, kryssi martin, struggle with racist thoughts when it comes to Hispanic females. I've worked through it over the years, and I believe I am no longer racist. Everyone knows why: I was bullied by gansta girls at O'Connell Jr. High, blah blah blah. Riding on that is the fact that I like to tell stories about my Uncle Bob, who is in fact, Mexican, proudly Mexican from Mexico. He used to call me a honky. I think he's hilarious. I tell stories of him threatening to cut off my ears and make tacos, and pulling knives out of the kitchen drawer and declaring them "Mexican credit cards". I was seven. I had no idea what he meant. The stories I tell about him are received with quiet trepidation from the white kids, and braying laughter followed by "I have an Uncle Bob, but his name is Jose! He's just like that!" from the Latinx kiddos. Both groups receive my stories looking across the room at the other group, afraid to react without a social cue first.
       Now that I'm in a school with a low white population, and I even have a class with Not One White Kid,I thought I'd test it out. One day, I said "So I have this Mexican Uncle Bob who's hilarious, but my children think I'm racist when I tell stories about him." The kids, all Latinx, said they'd like to hear the stories. I regaled them with them, and two of the boys immediately asked if I was sure I wasn't talking about their uncles, and we all laughed. Then I said, "Seriously, am I racist to repeat these stories? I don't want to offend anyone." One kid, we'll call him "A", shot his arm straight in the air and said "No way, Miss, you want a note? I'll write you a note saying you aren't racist."
      And so, the Uncle Bob stories will resume.
      I have a note.