Not only did I trade my truck in, but I also housed my cowboy hat in the box it came in. With all those crazy ICE agents looking for people here illegally, I did not want to do anything that would attract them to me or any of my family who could be driving my truck. It is a shame that a Tejano must hide his frontera roots because of the crazy guy in the White House who does not like brown skinned people.
If I thought wearing a red MAGA hat would help, I would go out and buy one; hell, I would make everyone in my family wear one. But dang, that won’t work as the two Trump Burger owners showed the world. If you are brown, you ain’t welcomed in America.
My great-grandfather Dioncio was a cattle herder, a vaquero. Many of us, country Mexicans, Tejanos, still think of ourselves as hard-working macho men who fight the Indians and the Gabachos daily. We have our pride to defend. We are like the cockroaches that will still be here when the funny critters from across the ocean who came here in wooden boats are gone, or all look like us. We walked south from across the Bering Strait, and it seems that now many of us are walking back north, where some of us settled in.
We are proud Meztizos, half-breeds, is what the Gabacho would have called us if they had half a brain. Most Mexicans are about 30 to 40 percent Native American, and the rest are of European descent. I am 32% Native American, the rest European, with about ten percent Jewish, to make us God’s chosen people on the American continent.
That handsome man on the left is my grandfather. He was tough; he once stuck a file through his hand, pulled it out, and went inside the house as if nothing had happened to tape the hole in his hand.
