On The Question Of Race
On the question of race
They ask me to write down my race
And I think and think very seriously
And consider writing down the truth
And have my answer read
I got a bald man deep inside
Working in a cornfield
With his children laboring
Hard at his side
I have a green eyed Spaniard
Deep within, driving a ’56 Chevy
In the heard of Juarez, Mexico
Just supporting his family.
I’ve got a giant somewhere within
Seven foot monstrosity pero
No habla ingles. Mi familia
Would probably say !Viva Mexico!
I have deep latino roots
Tejano, Norteña, y todo.
But I don’t care
“classes” mean nothing to me.
This “spexican” sits today
Wondering why we all fall prey
To racism, hatred and fear
The hour of hope draws near.
They ask me to write down my race
And I think and think very seriously
And consider writing down the truth
And have my answer read.
Ridglea, Guitar Center, and MARS
All places I’ve looked for guitars
But without for years of wretched band class
Never Would I have laid down my brass.
Tidwell and Middleton, two faces I recall
Many a day in the abhorred chair I sat
Listening to their spills and scolds
Which grew to harbor my apathy.
To a new school I came, bitter and cold.
Hate my way of life, a solace in itself.
Friendship I knew not of, foreign it was
Betrayal my only path, life was just that way.
Here I stand no words to speak
I know not where I am to go
This knowledge I have it has no shown
Whatever it is that I must seek.
So in hope for what I need I stand here
And do nothing more than write down
“Hispanic”
-Isaac DeLeon 2001
