The son of immigrants, and proud of it

I believe in pride, the root of the seven deadly sins, and yet proud people bother me. I believe in taking pride, a humble pride, not in who we are on the surface or what we have, but where we come from and who our ancestors were.

I am a first-generation American and I've seen how my parents have struggled with the hardship of coming to this country. If there's one thing I thank them for it's instilling in me a pride in being Mexican.

I don't look like your typical field-working Mexican, but I don't look like any race in particular either. All my life I've had to make it known: No, I'm sorry, I'm not Portuguese, Filipino, Balinese, white, Hawaiian, Asian, Canadian or French, and I'm not visiting from China. I'm Mexican. Soy Mexicano, quizás no de nacimiento, pero de sangre. Perhaps not by birth, but by blood.

To this day, I vividly remember a 5-year-old me, walking the eight-mile protest along the vineyards in my county alongside hundreds of migrant workers and Latino immigrant families marching for fair treatment and pay. "Si se puede" -- We can do it -- the chants still call to me, forever vibrant through the years.

These memories of bonds forged between the protesters through sweat warms me, filling me with pride.

I still recall the summers when I'd go visit my family living on the border in Calexico. My grandma would arrive home after working picking grapes, and she'd bring home a few for us to have. We'd enjoy them, the fruits gathered by her sweat, and she'd smile at us, glad to see the joy her work brought to her grandchildren's faces.

I'm proud to come from hard workers, from immigrants, from people willing to put everything on the line in hopes of making life better for the generations to come. I'm proud of being who I am. But at the same time I admire other races, other nationalities, other peoples.

You don't have to be a "person of color" to find pride in your ancestry. Even if you're white, there's still something beautiful in saying, "I'm of Dutch descent!" Or, "I'm French and German with a bit of Russian."

Even though they might not be as romantic as coming from a long line of Gypsies, acknowledging your lineage still raises a cross-cultural awareness, and that alone can work wonders.

I know my pride is there, burning bright, but humble still. I want everyone to feel pride, and not be ashamed of who they are, who they were, where they've been or where they come from.