I’ve never had to be told by my parents that the color of my skin is beautiful.

There’s never been a need to be told that.

But for my 12-year-old brother, that’s unfortunately not the case.

My brother and I are biological siblings of a married bicultural couple. My mother is white and my father is Hispanic. I inherited my mom’s light skin and freckles, albeit my father’s dark hair and eyes. Many people probably wouldn’t know I'm Hispanic if not for my last name. My brother, on the other hand, is a carbon copy of my dad, including his tan skin.

I’ve always been jealous of my brother’s beautiful complexion and the way he can step out into the sun for five minutes and come back inside even more bronzed. But as he’s grown and gone to school in a predominantly white community — he’s one of the only Hispanic kids in his grade — I’ve realized not everyone shares my envy.

A classmate has called him Juan. A teammate has called him black, and that teammate then said he hated black people, which is horribly offensive on a whole other level.

There have been several other instances of kids in my brother’s class calling him black, and it’s disheartening to see how easily ignorance can infiltrate the minds of youth. These children are seemingly not being educated about diversity and not being told their “jokes” aren’t funny. They make negative, pointed assumptions rather than politely ask questions out of a genuine desire to understand differences.

Hannah Ortega poses with her younger brother. (via Hannah Ortega)

I expect that when the foundations of compassion and empathy are not established at a young age, other sentiments take their place, and it can become difficult to build the correct base as a person grows older.

My brother and I are of the same blood, yet I am somehow able to escape from prejudice, all because of my lighter skin.

I know I’m not the only one who stands protected from prejudice while loved ones are exposed because of their complexion, for that’s what white skin often serves as — a shield from the harshest words and looks. Just last month, I heard that a Hispanic friend of a friend has a darker-skinned sibling who is subjected to prejudice, whereas she is not. A family friend has a white daughter who is free to walk around stores, while the adopted Ethiopian son is scrutinized by security.

In society’s eyes, my brother drew the short end of the stick in the gene pool, when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Stories of violence and harassment toward Hispanics continue to make news as a result of the recent border crisis — for example, the brick beating of a 91-year-old Mexican man and the harassment of a woman for wearing a Puerto Rico shirt. I fear my brother may face more cruelty than ever before.

But I won’t experience such problems. I have light skin. As bullies pick their targets, I’ll probably be glanced over, called a white girl, when there’s so much more to my heritage, so much more to me.

And there’s so much more to my brother than his darker skin.

Diversity is a beautiful thing, even more so when it exists in your own family, where you see various shades exuding the same love every day. Too often humans look with their eyes and not their hearts, and people like my brother are left hurt. Luckily, he has learned to let ignorant comments roll off his back. He no longer allows other people’s insensitivity to shape the way he sees and feels about himself.

We as a nation continue to repeat the oppressive, prejudiced mistakes of history instead of embracing equality. My brother is one of the most thoughtful, loving and intelligent people I know, and both he and other dark-skinned people deserve respect, compassion and kindness.

Neither my brother nor anyone else should feel that the color of his skin is a curse. It is something that should be celebrated, and for my family, it always will be.

Hannah Ortega was a summer intern with The Dallas Morning News.

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