Stories (POSTS PAGE EX)

getting a voter guide that was only in Spanish because of my Hispanic last name

I grew up in an era when the Crayola crayon box included a pinkish-peach color that was labeled “flesh.” As a small child, I learned and internalized color names from that box. In class here I referred to a component of a diagram as “flesh” colored and only an instant later realized the implications of something that had been internalized before I had skills and awareness to question it. I should have done a better job of addressing the microaggression at that moment. But will never commit that one again, and it’s made me think about and question other things I might have absorbed previously.

It was about 6:00 pm on a Thursday, my busiest teaching day that semester. I had just shut down my computer and was reaching for my bag to head out to a 6:30 class at the gym (the one selfish thing I looked forward to each week). A student in my course appeared in my office with reasonable though not quick or urgent questions regarding the coursework. I informed him that I was on my way out and would be happy to make an appointment to for us to talk the next day. He responded, “Why won’t you help me now? It’s not like you have a husband or kids to go home to.” As a pre-tenure faculty member belonging to a minority group, I simply could not afford the possibility of any negative comments on my course evals. Thus, I stayed even later to work with the student and never mentioning his hurtful assumptions/words regarding my value. I even swallowed my feelings and wrote strong recommendation letters for him after that incident. I love my job and am willing to work hard for my students, but I selfishly admit I wish I could be afforded the benefits of being permitted to cultivate a bit of a personal life in way that seem to be considered acceptable for my colleagues with traditional families.

A faculty member told me I was brave for “admitting” I was the first in my family to go to college. I do not understand why this fact is an admission rather than a statement. Should I be “admitting” other personal circumstances over which I had no control such as my eye color or where I was born? Initially, I was proud of my academic accomplishments, but getting to Davidson taught me it is a stigma. Many exceptionally well-meaning individuals here expect first-gens will fail and struggle more, which is contrary to my demonstrated successes. I now try to hide my status from most faculty members, preventing at least one way for them to think less of me.

I remembered during the 2016 Election, everyone was crying and shouting hateful, mean-spirited things at Trump voters. I felt very unsafe on campus that day and throughout the next week.