Growing up as a biracial kid was, to say the least, a bit tough. I remember walking around with my grandmother, and my cousins, and always getting an awkward eye. Why? Well, because I looked absolutly nothing like any of them. I was a tall, blue eyed white kid, to their short, tanned skin and brown eyes. I was different. However, it had never occurred to me how different I was until I experienced discrimination for the first time. I was in my 7th grade Spanish class, the day slowly passing by, when I found a camera inside one of the desks. I was about to go and give it to my teacher, when a fellow classmate, who also happened to be Mexican asked what I was doing. I told him my intentions to give it to the teacher and he laughed right in my face. He proceeded to tell me that if I was a “REAL MEXICAN” I would go down to the pawn shop and sell it. I…