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Eskimo, and could teach them how to.make ice blocks. I shrugged my shoulders and told them I didn’t know anything about Alaska or making an igloo. That was one of my first memories of learning about ethnicity. And then I had one of my first lessons in patriotism. Being half Philippina and half Spanish, I knew that something was going on culturally. I remember asking him, “What am I?,” Dad. He looked at me and said, “You’re an American, that’s all you need to know.”
I grew up in a middle class neighborhood and attended a Catholic School a few blocks from our house. I wore a uniform and was taught by the strictest of nuns. My ignorance knew no bounds and until I was nearly 12,1 thought that nuns comprised a third sex. There were men, women and nuns. With all that heavy black covering everything, it’s possible that they were a third species in my book and acted just as precariously: .1 was petrified of my fifth grade teacher, Mother Marguerite. She was very tall, angular and moved like a shadow. In those days, we didn’t just get graded on subjects but our behavior as well. The marks ran from a 1-3 with 3 being the lowest and indicating that perhaps you had some major social problem. I never got a “3” but I did get a “2” for being nervous and jittery. My father never accompanied
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