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I Gave Up My Mexican Last Name for a White Name – The Bold Italic
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I had minutes to make my decision. I was choosing either a Mexican last name or a white last name. I had gotten so swept up in my wedding-planning process that I completely forgot that I would have to ultimately make the decision to remain a Rodriguez or become a Prilliman. But as I was filling out the marriage-license paperwork, reality sunk in.
If I went through with this name change, I would no longer have a Hispanic label attached to me. I wish I could say it went differently, but there seemed to be more cons than pros that came with my Hispanic last name due to the racism my family and I have experienced for most of our lives. I grew up in a small, predominantly white, rural town in central Texas that was known for rodeo, high school football and farms that smell like mounds of cow patties. When I was little, my dad worked on one of these farms.
Originally from Monterrey, Mexico, he came to the United States chasing the American dream like many others. After getting married, my mom and dad moved to Stephenville specifically for a farming job opportunity. Given that I was only four or five at the time, I never thought twice about my dad working on a farm because it was all I ever knew.
I Gave Up My Mexican Last Name for a White Name
But as I got older, I begin to notice commonalities: White people were the teachers, doctors and business owners, the people who lived in nice houses, not the kind with cracked linoleum floors peeling up like moldy cheese. I knew they had more money and seemed smart and important, but how did they get to be that way? It was sometime in the fifth or sixth grade that I started looking for ways to mask my Mexican-ness. There was a prominent family in my hometown known for being avid supporters of the community, who donated their time and money to school fundraisers and the like.
One day my sister came home sobbing because this boy had broken up with her. His parents had been so kind to us; I had thought they respected my family as equals. The son and my sister continued to see each other in secret for a little while, but the damage was done.
I was the youth chair for a local mayoral race back in Texas. As part of that job, I organized an event in which other prominent politicians would be in attendance.
Speechless, I silently picked up the closest messy plate and walked away.