I sometimes feel like I was robbed of learning so much from my heritage. My father tried to teach me about Mexican history and culture as much as he could but he could only do so much.

One thing I wish he haber glossed over is our indigenous background.

Dad grew up in a tiny town in southwestern Mexico. His mother was mostly of indigenous background because— she looked like the typical Mexican indigenous woman— short, thin but strong, black straight hair, high cheek bones, dark set eyes, high nose, brown-copper skin

I had always assumed growing up I was part indigenous and made mention of it when I was about 13 to my father. He seemed offended. I pointed out that my grandmother was indigenous and he said: “Esta loca?! She’s not an india! She’s just tan from working in the fields!”

I remember that exact conversation and it taking place in grandma’s hut and the portrait of young her on the wall, looking exactly the same skin tone... before she worked in the fields... sure dad

Another impactful conversation I had, (with my mother, not father) was not long after where I was watching a news broadcast about Chiapas and how many indigenous people there were fighting for something.

I was confused because my experience in US was that indigenous had there own land gifted by the govt and would never dare to raise arms against the federal govt since after all, they got free college and medicine...
this was of course BEFORE I learned the truth about THE LIES

So indigenous people rising up against the govt was strange to me. So I asked my mom why they were rising up and what they wanted. Her response:
“Who knows? Those people always want SOMETHING”

I was shocked at her answer.

I learned through those conversations that in Mexico, indigenous people were second class citizens. I had hoped I would learn what Mexican indigenous nation I belonged to because of my father’s close ties, but that hope was soon crushed.

Instead of telling about our indigenous background, my father proudly claimed a Spanish grandmother who married his grandfather, who was mayor of the tiny little town of San Miguel de Las Palmas... I looked into it. Lies

A simple search on Ancestry lead me to her registry on her birth and marriage. She wasn’t Spanish. She was born in the same town as my dad. Maybe she had light skin and light eyes because of an ancestor who at worst, was raped by a colonizer or at best, was taken as a mistress.

I have no idea where my European blood comes from, I don’t really care. I’m more interested in finding my indigenous background that i feel was buried and locked away.
This in fact is just part 1 of my emotional roller coaster on How My Heritage was Hidden/Stolen