There was a bit of a wait yesterday evening at the ice cream parlor because the counter woman was next door at the Cinco de Mayo party. When she finally tore herself away to come serve us, I said jokingly: "Celebrating Cinco de Mayo. You must be Mexican."
"I'm not Mexican," she said defiantly. "Do I look Mexican?"
I told her that she could be from Mexico, a rich and diverse country. "I'm not Mexican," she insisted, obviously troubled now by the idea that someone could mistake her for a Mexican immigrant. She was an interesting but perhaps not atypical case: an American who saw no contradiction in celebrating the holiday of a country she held in disdain.
