Now, it's one thing when your parents come from different ethnic backgrounds, but their differences show up in your face. In Vega's case, they did not: "I am an average white girl... When you look into my face, it's clear what everyone else knows/ Daddy is white, so I must be white, too."
But... was she? "I was raised half-Latin," she explains. "This caused me some problems."
To her white friends, she was not entirely white. But to her Latino friends... she wasn't that, either. (She also had "foes"-- bullies, we assume.)
"When you look into the mirror/ What comes looking back at you?" She also wondered, herself, about who she was.
The issue of identity is pervasive. She says that she could feel herself being weighed and judged as she simply walked around by the passers-by: "I feel the tension in the street, I feel it ticking all around/ I feel it filling up the sidewalk, in the spaces in between... my face and your face and the public places we get seen."
The last verse tells a brief story of two "strangers" at a bar: "He called her 'baby,' she called him 'boy.'" The result? "It ended as a fight." Too bad, because it began as a "conversation" and they wound up "broken-hearted" which implies that initially, there was a flirtation that might have bloomed.
Vega's understanding was that the situation deteriorated because "he was black and she was white." But I think she may have-- however inappropriate her response-- been reacting to him calling her "baby," which she perceived as sexist. Perhaps there are still deeper layers; perhaps a way of addressing someone of the opposite gender is acceptable in some communities and not in others, and that is what Vega meant.
The larger issue is the need to define oneself, and others, in terms of culture and race. It is a need we seem to have as individuals and as a society...
...and as mommies, daddies, and kiddies.
Next Song: Brother Mine
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