trump: a playing card of the suit chosen to rank above the others, which can win a trick where a card of a different suit has been led.
For a person who has always stated that there are no coincidences reading the above definition of the word trump sends chills down my spine.
- chosen to rank above others
- Can Win A Trick
- Where A Card of A Different Suit Has Been LED!
I am not into politics. I can honestly say that I really have not cared that much until now. Like most people there are things I hold dear and that matter to me greatly and things I do not give a hoot about. I look at where candidates stand on the things that matter to me and I punch my card in favor of the lesser of all evils.
This time it is different though. This time I am scared. I am sad. I am questioning people around me that I thought were friends. Normal. Smart. Kind. CATHOLIC. Friends.
To say that I am passionate about my culture, my heritage, my Cubanism would be an understatement. I have dedicated my career, and in many ways my life, to helping erase stereotypes. Nothing gives me greater joy than the opportunity to state, after an unaccented intelligent discussion, that I am Hispanic. Yo soy Cubana. Only to hear “you don’t look Hispanic!”. Well, what does Hispanic look like? What does it sound like? Are you surprised? Many look and sound like me. Have degrees, work corporate jobs, live in the Midwest, marry into Irish surnames, have children who don’t speak Spanish but can Salsa like nobody’s business. Removing the blinders has always been part of the reward.It has brought me great joy and made me some money.
This time it is different though. This time I am scared. I am sad. I am grateful that who I am, where I am from, what I believe is not obvious.
My children- a blondish, blue-eyed doll that looks like a California Beach Baby with legs like a stallion. Thank God. A fair skinned, dark eyed little man whose looks scream GOAL! before they scream Hispanic. Thank God. A red-head with light freckles and a smile that will melt your heart. She goes by Lulu. It could be anything. Thank God.
Thank God that they won’t get punched or kicked or called Wetback or Spics. Shot for riding their bikes on the path in front of the mansions in our neighborhood because they must’ve stolen something. Pushed and shoved and stabbed with a syringe for the color of their skin. Thank God that if we have to we can go under cover and be safe.
This time may not be so different. Is this how the Jews felt? How the people of the Underground railroad felt? The Asians in the camps? The Cubans on the rafts? The Haitians out a sea? The Syrians sleeping in the dirt? Is this how it started in Cuba when one man changed the entire course of my history?
This is not about a wall or keeping people out. This is about what can happen to those of us that are here! To our kids, our jobs, our families, our friendships. Our identities!
These are my thoughts today. I have shamefully sat and felt relief at being able to divorce myself from my identity if it came to that. How fucked up is that?
trump: the place where a card of a different suit refuses to be led.