Merry Hispanic Month or whatever. Don't get me wrong, I am glad we get a spot on El Grande American Calender. But as I said: here at theunapologeticmexican.org, we are All Brown Pride, All the Time. We Are All Take the Power Back All the Time. We are All Brown Eyed Children of the Suncentric All the Time. We are Teaching Each Other What to Read, and What Our Language Means All the Time. We are Learning From Where We Came All the Time. We don't neeeeed no stinkin' Hallmark Grito®, eh? We runnin' our own calender, hombre. We don't neeeed no month where we allowed to be proud.

Never did care for the word "Hispanic." I don't mind if anyone else uses it, or self-identifies positively with it. I'm all about you feeling good, baby. (In my blog). But personally? It reminds me of "Spic," and I have a problem with that word.

When I was young, I lived near sewers at one point. Huge, concrete tunnels that run underground for miles. Places you could walk in darkness and hear the water running and splashing under your feet. I don't think it was septic tunnels, because you'd know by the smell. I think it was what us ole Public Health Inspectors called "graywater." (Yes, I have held every job possible, some concurrently). Just water that is tainted by use, soaps, dishes, sinks, washers and must be processed before returning to the water table. These were strange tunnels to travel, and I did. And nobody hurt me there, and nobody did anything to me, I saw the huge obscene graffiti of cocks and the like, and it weirded me out. And I didn't know what "Spic's Dungeon" meant, which you'd read over the mouth of that tunnel every time you entered it (and you'd see the cock graffiti, too, by the door), but I found out eventually. Those dark, lonely tunnels with the hostile graffiti is one of the things that comes to my mind with that word. Believe it or not, it's also why I'm bothered by seeing a box labeled "Spic and Span" in my bathroom. Maybe this is silly! But that's memories for ya. It's really easy to solve. I buy other bathroom cleaners.

Another time that stands out in my mind for that particular slur was hearing it hurled at me numerous times by a girl who, three years earlier, had exclaimed "I like Mexican boys" on a dance floor, a dance floor that was to be the memoryscape of The Place We First Met. Three years later, the unfurling of that word was the Flag of the End Days for her and I. The one they know will get you unwrapping your stones. It started as a thing she got off on, but maybe in a way I might not want to know about. Is what I ended up thinking. She curled her lips around that word like it was a Tartar Lolly.

Panic, Spic. Nah.

Of course it's true, too, that the word signifies Spain, and once again devalues the Indian—as Guillermo Banfil Batalla talks about a lot. I don't want to do that to myself. I called myself "Spanish" for years, and I'm not sure I really like deferring one more time to them. I think enough deference to Spain has been done in Mexico, and by Mexicans.

I don't mind if Spain is in my blood from years of humans mixing in mi historia (it is not, that I know of), nor do I mind any of the other blends that went into making me who I am. I am who I am, and I would embrace all of myself and my people and our paths. But I will not kneel before the conqueror anymore. Not metaphorically, certainly not physically, and not even lingually. I am not "Spanish," vato. I am Mexicano. I am Chicano. I am Latino (I don't mind this one, plus I needed a third word, here). Do not call me "Hispanic." It's a word chiseled with tacks and hisses and little tongue pins. Try this: May-hee-ca-no. Nice, isn't it? Flows like sun, like honey on cornbread. Or just don't call me nuthin'. I'll still be me.

I know that "Hispanic" is also the big umbrella we use to make sure nobody is left out, when we want to talk about all Spanish-Speaking people. And that's cool, too. I just don't use the word to self-identify. Makes me feel like a form, like a thin white form layin' on a desk riddled with checkboxes or circles full of lead.

Let me end on a positive note and wish you a happy day. And say that I don't think the month is a bad thing at all. Es muy chido that so many of our antepasados have attention brought to them for these 30 days. It's better than a National Hispanic Heritage day, after all. And it does inspire dialogue. I just refuse to corral my pride and recognition of the Brown into one month! Haha!!! Bust it.

So, whether you are out picking some tomatoes (ours are coming in nicely, at least the grape tomatoes so far), puttin' love into your work, or fryin' up some butter, garlic and peppers so that your kitchen glows spicy and warm—have a great one today.

And Happy Independence day to Honduras, Guatemala, Costa Rica, El Salvador, and Nicaragua!