I find it so true that to know Camilo is to love him. And he just so happens to be well-known. He has fans and people we call family in three different continents (that we know of) and it seems the group is always growing. The fan mail we get and constant comments really keep fueling this parental feeling that our child is the most special, even though deep down we know that he is just a normal kid and that’s exactly what we want.
A lot of the attention Camilo gets is because he is friendly and outgoing. He waves to everyone he sees on the street and gives up his toys to invite newcomers into a room, even if that invitation is just awkwardly staring at the person at a nearness uncomfortable to them. He makes friends because he can take instruction in three languages. And he is just flat out cute. I don´t think I am biased at all.
But in the countries in which we have lived, his looking different from others is what really calls attention to him. Imagine living in Laos where young boys follow the Buddhist customs of hair shaving. They are darker skinned children never to be confused with a long haired girl. And then, there is my wild child. Light skinned with long blond curls that bounced with his step and caught the leaves drifting through the air.
Here in Mexico, he still calls a lot of that same attention. He rides his tricycle down the street and people stop to comment on the handsomeness of the ¨guerito¨ (white boy). He goes to the park and children ask why his name is Camilo if he is white (and obviously mom is too). He has dad´s ears and eye shape and confidence and social skills. But, he didn´t get the one element that could make him look more Mexican: the color.
Misa and I couldn´t care less what color our children came out except that it is hard to watch him not ¨belong¨ to the country he came from. Honestly, there are many other Mexicans who look like Camilo in my opinion, but I guess my ethnic identifying goggles aren´t as fine tuned as a place not called the melting pot. We go down the street to see the dump truck and tractors and shield our eyes from the welding in the corner. Camilo greets all the workers and they greet him and they usually ask two questions: how old he is and where he is from. I definitely don´t blame people for having curiosity. But the denial that comes when I say that he is from here is hard.
¨He is from here.¨
¨But you, where are you from?¨ They wonder, seeing and hearing that I obviously am not.
¨I am from the United States,¨ I reply. Understanding comes upon their faces. They have a sense of resolve, realizing that he is not Mexican after all, just lives here. I quickly jump in to defend what I sense, ¨But I have lived here for eight years and my husband is Mexican.¨ At this point, we don´t mention Laos to strangers. It is confusing enough seeing a Mexican boy with his American mother without adding in a third country whose existence they likely don´t know about.
¨What is his name?¨
¨Camilo.¨ A confused look again. A Latino name.
¨Oralé. (woah!) His name is Camilo.¨
¨Yes, he is Mexican.¨ Here I am fighting for them to accept my two year old as one of them when they would be dying to have the citizenship and papers he has to what is considered the more admirable country.
¨But he doesn´t speak Spanish does he? Just English?¨ they ask as they try to say one of their acquired English phrases.
¨He does speak Spanish. He lives in Mexico and he is Mexican.¨
¨But over there they speak English.¨
¨Over where?¨ I ask knowing full well they mean the United States, unable to get it out of their heads that he has never lived there and has more in common with themselves than with they think.
¨The United States.¨
¨Yes, they speak English there, but we have never lived there. We live here.¨ There is no response.
I change the topic, mentioning how Camilo loves tractors. That is why we are stumbling in here in the first place.
¨Oh, is that what his family works in over there?¨ Now I am tongue tied and tired.
I´m sure Camilo will grow into his identity. It will probably get easier to convince others just how Mexican he is when doesn´t have his American mother chasing him everywhere. It is probably easier when he is with his dad too, even if they question whether there is truly a relationship between the two of them.
But I´m curious to know when it will be enough. When will he appear Mexican enough that everyone will just assume he eats nopales and spicy foods and understands Spanish? And I really wonder what difference it would make for our next child if they turned out a few tones darker…would I have an obviously Mexican kid missing all the questioning that Camilo endures daily?
