Do They Really Care? Isaac Fague

Ever since I was around 4-10 years old, I lived a happy life like a kid should’ve. I always ran around my backyard with my friends, and my cousins, playing games, and having fun. Everything a kid should be doing. I was almost always happy. There were some situations that I wasn’t happy in, but they were always resolved and I went back to my happy life.

Then I came into middle school, I was nervous and excited at the same time, making new friends from the other elementary schools. I started to learn more and more about the kids around the school and make new friends. They would learn about me too, and one subject that always comes up between friends is what our ethnicities are. So I told my friends mine, and every time, they would get this look of shock on their face. It has always bothered me every time I would see that face after telling my friends I was Mexican. I didn’t and still don’t understand why people think that if you're not the same as them, you don't to be treated the same as them.

In 6th grade, on every now and then would a racist joke be made about me and it was almost the same joke every time. But progressively over time, the jokes have become more frequent and more creative. It's come to the point in my life now that every single day of my life, several racist jokes are made about me. My friends are the ones that do it all time, and I don’t like it. I’ve said it many times to them too. I guess they think I'm joking. Sometimes it makes me want to punch a wall and scream because they don't know how I truly feel about it. I know they don’t mean any of it because they’re my friends and wouldn’t want to do something like that to me. But they don’t know what it feels like to be made fun of for their race, being the minority, and having racist jokes made about them every day of their lives. They have never experienced and probably won’t ever experience like that.

However, unlike my friends, there are some occasions when people mean what they say about me. On the day when Hasbro came to our school and all the students were with their homeroom classes and we went to different classrooms to play games, and do other activities, I had to sit next to someone who didn’t really like me, I’ll call him, Jeffy, I didn’t know why Jeffy didn’t like me but that’s just the way it was. I then got up to hang something in Mrs. Vachon's room for the activity we were doing. I was just walking, minding my own business, and when I came back, two of my good friends told me told me what Jeffy said. Let’s just say he used some explicit language to describe my race.

“Next time you want to say something like that about me, say it to my face, then you’ll see what happens to you after that. Then you’ll really wish that another 6th grader was beating you up and not me.” That's what I said to him after I put my fist next to his face letting him know to never say something like that again to me.

Another time when something like that happened was when a friend and I got into an argument when we were really mad at each other. We kept going back forth, arguing over social media.

Out of nowhere, something completely irrelevant to what we were arguing about, “You’re a fat, taco eating Mexican.” Is what he called me after some time of us arguing

So, the only thing that came to my mind then was to fire back at him. It ended up being a mean, long paragraph that probably would’ve gotten better grades than all of my English essays.

And finally, the one that didn’t hurt me the most, but the meanest one that I’ve ever had said to me was from this girl that didn’t like me, and I absolutely hated her, so we naturally didn’t have anything nice to say to each other, ever. That girl, I'll call her Gloria, was friends with this girl that I was talking to on an app called Houseparty, so Gloria decided to talk to me through there, and she went on a rant about why Mexican people are bad people overall. She said how we shoot people in the middle of streets, take and deal all kinds of drugs, and take people from the streets and rape them. I know that she meant every single word because she doesn’t like me and she wanted to bother me as much as she could.

In this story, there is no resolution where my friends and I make up and I forgive what they said to me and we live happily ever after. It still happens everyday. This story, is the only way for me to even come close to making my friends realize how they make me feel. But who knows if they’ll stop, if they’ll keep doing it. It all depends if they care about me or not.

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