My Ethnicity Story

I am part of the “standardized test generation” and therefore know how to correctly fill in bubbles on test forms. However, when it comes to the “personal” question bubbles, I always had trouble. I hated the restricted options. How does one who fits in two bubbles respond? And those who don’t fit in any specific category?


See, I have always been very aware of my ethnicity. I have taken pride in being half Portuguese. In the fifth grade, I found it disheartening that I could not bubble in my “halfness” on the standardized state testing form all fifth graders were required to take. The teacher even asked us to raise our hands if we didn’t know which bubble we were supposed to fill in, if we didn’t know what our identity was. I remember her going around the room telling us our racial identity in a quick glance. We all learned something that day; we were white and you could tell just from looking at us. (My school is out in the country in a predominately white area, which could be somewhat of an understatement). I hated that I was denied the right to identify the “other half” that I was. (Yes, even in fifth grade the activist in me thought this was wrong.)


In middle school with more bubble standardized tests, I marked “other” in the race/ethnicity question on the sheet. I didn’t identify as any of the specific groups. I was my own category, my own person, and refused to conform to this notion that I should be one bubble, one identity, one life. However the “other” category has serious drawbacks not only in its name but its position in what being the “other” creates.


Throughout high school, I finally would fill in the “white” Caucasian bubble but had strong feelings against it. But in the eyes of everyone, I was white. I gave in to how society viewed me because the question was ultimately about how I was viewed from society’s standpoint and not my own identification.


During my freshman year of college, I lived in the Residence Halls on campus. I had a completely new roommate and life to become accustomed to. So when about a week into school my roommate decided to ask, “What’s your ethnicity?” My immediate response was to laugh. I have never in my life, before that moment, been asked what my ethnicity was. Even if I never liked identifying as a Caucasian person I knew that was how I was supposed to respond. I laughed at her political correctness of phrasing the question. I laughed at how she picked up on my subtle color difference. I laughed at the awkward timing of her question. Finally what I had known all along became more of a reality. I wasn’t just white; I was half Portuguese.