Emil's Big Chance Leaves Me Uneasy
If I use my son's fair-skinned good looks to pay for his education,
am
I being savvy or just selling out?
By Tricia Capistrano
Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie may have the most popular baby in the
world right now, but I do not envy them. I had my taste of
celebrity when I took my infant son on a trip to the Philippines
two years ago. I walked away from him for a moment at a baby- goods
store in Manila and when I returned, he was surrounded by four
women in their 20s who were ogling him. "He is so cute!" they said.
"So fair-skinned!" Whether we were in the mall or at church, people
would gather around to look at his face.
My son is mestizo, of mixed race. My husband is Caucasian with
ancestors from Sweden and Slovakia. I am a brown-skinned woman from
the Philippines, where many people I know have a fascination with
the lighter skinnedprobably because our islands were invaded so
many times by whites who tried to convince us that they were better
and more beautiful than us. We were under Spain's rule for nearly
400 years, the United States' for almost 50. As a result,
skin-whitening products fly off the pharmacy shelves.
"Any plans to move back here?" my relatives ask when I visit.
"I'll send Emil when he is a teenager so he can become a matinee
idol and fund our retirement," I joke. Most of the country's famous
actors are of mixed race, and the teen actors who are on their way
up don't have to be talented, just fair-skinned and preferably of
Spanish, American or Chinese descent.
I started to reconsider my response several months ago after my
husband and I read that by the time our son goes to college in 16
years, his education will cost about $500,000. When we visited my
parents last January, I asked my friends in the advertising
industry if I could bring my son by their offices to take some test
shots. I wondered if he could land a commercial for diapers, cereal
or maybe ice cream.
By the time I got the number of an agent, I had started to
second-guess my idea. I realized that I was going to be part of the
system that can sometimes make us dark-skinned people believe that
we are inferior. I do not want Filipino children who look like me
to feel bad about themselves. When I was a kid, my grandmother
would get upset whenever I told her that I'd be spending the
afternoon swimming in my cousin's pool, because it meant that my
skin would get darker than it already was. My mom, whose nose I
acquired, has one of the widest among her brothers and sisters. She
taught me to pinch the bridge daily so that the arch would be
higher, like my cousins. Most of her girlfriends got blond
highlights and nose jobs as soon as they received their first
paychecks, almost as a rite of passage.
As a teenager, I tried to hang out with the mestizas, because I
wanted to be popular like them. It was only when I was 22 years old
and moved to New York, where people of different colors, beliefs
and sexual orientations are embraced, that I learned to appreciate
my brown skin, wide nose, straight, black hair and five-foot
stature. Because of the self-confidence I saw in the people I met,
I found everyonein the subway, on the street, in
restaurantsbeautiful.
When some of my friends in Manila express disappointment that their
children are not as light-skinned as Emil, I tell them it doesn't
matter. And for a long time, I've been content with my decision to
scrap my plans for Emil to be on the airwaves. I felt I was doing
my share for my brown brothers and sisters.
Then, on one of the first warm days this spring, Emil and I went to
the playground with our half-Irish, half-Polish neighbor, Julia,
and her son. While we were watching the kids play, I joked that I
was going to send Emil to the Philippines to be on TV. "Oh, that
would be great!" she said earnestly. She told me that as a little
girl she had been in a series of Kodak commercials in the 1970s,
ads I remember seeing during episodes of "Three's Company." Julia's
parents were working class, so it was the only way they could
afford to pay for her college education.
Once again, I'm tempted to call that agent. After all, I am sure
other fair-skinned children are being chosen to appear in
Philippine commercials even as I write this. I know my boycott is
just an anecdote in the world's bigger drama. The real stage is in
my decolonized mind. If my son ever lands a part on TV because of
his color, do I want to be the one who has cast him?
Capistrano lives in New York City.