My dad is white. Not the same kind of white that I am, he’s full white. Parents from England kind of white. Although he didn’t raise me, I did visit him every other weekend when I was growing up. It was the typical divorced white dad kind of thing: bowling, fast causal restaurant and maybe a movie then back to mom. I’d like to say that this experience was some transformative stuck between two worlds, one at my Mexican home with mom and then my American home with dad, but that would be a lie. It was more like alternating between being at home with my mom and then having to go on this weird quasi-vacation to my dad’s that I didn’t really like that much but was fun sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad (I mean he is my dad after all I think that is like almost legally required to love him) but his place never felt like home. I’m sure if you asked him if it did for my brother and I he would say he tried to make home, but deep down he would know.

 

I think it would be a safe bet if you assumed I had some resentment or something towards my dad for my parents not being together or for being the reason I am so white skinned but so Mexican at the same time, but I don’t for either of those things. Do I resent my dad for things unrelated to identity, absolutely. Unfortunately for you, these resentments fall squarely in the category of "not identity related" so to find those out you have to get your therapy license and take me on as a client. Anyways, my parents being separated makes sense, they aren’t right for each other, and I mean it’s not his fault that he’s white and then by the natural process of genetics I am too. Also to be clear, I am not upset or confused purely because I am white. It’s the whole ethnic vs racial non-connection that’s confusing and it would be the same if you changed “white” for any other race (not the exact same cause the privilege of being white is also a huge part of my life and my confusion surrounding it but I digress).

 

My dad and I have literally never talked about me being Mexican and him not. Our only conversations that touch on Mexico are when I inform him that I am going there for Christmas and he tells be to be careful because "it is so dangerous nowadays" or when he talks about why he voted for Trump. So my ethnicity and my struggles with it are something I can only talk about with my mom, and luckily she is the best person to have ever graced this earth and in turn more than capable to help me through these confusing points of life.

 

Shockingly, my Trump supporter dad is not the best when it comes to talking about identity. He’s not just a Trump supporter in the kind of way where he likes his tax policy. No, he LOVES Trump. As you can imagine, that puts me in a bit of a weird spot for a couple of reasons. There is of course the general thing that I find Donald Trump reprehensible and disagree with just about everything he stands for and represents, and the fact my own father could have such differing political views is of course a point of contention at dinners and conversations about the state of the world. Then there’s the elephant in the room: Trump and his supporters really don’t like Mexicans.

 

My dad married a Mexican, my mom, then got divorced by her and remarried yet another Mexican woman (I guess he had a type) and then divorced from this second wife. So, is it beyond my scope of imagination to think my father’s support of a political candidate that blames all the bad things that have happened in America on Mexicans might stem from these repeated marital breakdowns? No, it is not. He did in fact vote for Obama before his second divorce, so maybe it was the breaking point. This is of course most likely not true, but it is very funny to imagine. The white man scorned by two Mexican women alters his entire political belief system to get back at them, even at the expense of his children's mental health. Now that I type that out, it isn't as funny as it was in my head, but it is funny nonetheless.  Regardless of his reason, it pains me to know that my dad can look me in the face and know that I, his Mexican American son, is the person that Trump talks about when calls us all kinds of awful names and wants to keep out with his wall. 

 

I know better than to bring this up to him. It would fall on deaf ears and he would reply “you’re also American you know.” That response would drive me insane to the point that even putting myself in a position to hear it is not something I want to do. My dad is not stupid, in fact he is anything from it. He is a successful attorney who went to great schools his entire academic career, and knows his way around an argument. So I know that he knows that answer, and his entire political choice to support Trump, is not some accident that can coexist with the reality of him having a Mexican son without strife. That fact, the fact he knows, makes it hurt all that much more. 

 

Im not going to write off my dad for his support of Trump. I can’t and don’t want to. Besides, it’s not like we were that close in the first place. His Trump support would cause a whole new level of pain and confusion if we had some sort of ironclad father-son bond and all of a sudden he announced to me he loved the candidate that spoke out against my existence as a Mexican. Not talking about his political views is just another thing on the infinite list of things we don't talk about. We already don't talk about my studies, my social life, what my professional plans are, and much much more. Politics is just one more thing, right? Instead of confronting him, I’ll do the healthiest thing possible with the emotions it causes me to have: write about them in a public facing forum that he could easily access and make things even more awkward.