Why can't you call me Alex?" I ask, my head down while I stare at the food in front of me.<br />"If I wanted to call you Alex, I wouldn't have bothered to name you Alejandro. Don't you like your given name?"<br />My muscles tense. I was named after a father who is no longer alive, leaving me the responsibility of being the designated man of the house. Alejandro, Alejandro Jr., Junior . . . it's all the same to me.<br />"Would it matter?" I mumble as I pick up a tortilla. I look up, trying to gauge her reaction.<br />Her back is to me as she cleans dishes in the sink. "No."<br />"Alex wants to pretend he's white," Carlos chimes in. "You can change your name, bro, but nobody'd mistake you for anythin' other than <i> Mexicano." </i><br />"Carlos, <i> collate la boca," </i> I warn. I don't want to be white. I just don't want to be associated with my father.<br /><i> "Por favor, </i> you two," our mother pleads. "Enough fighting for one day."<br /><i> "Mojado," </i> Carlos sings, egging me on by calling me a wetback.<br />I've had enough of Carlos's mouth; he's gone too far. I stand, my chair scraping the floor. Carlos follows and steps in front of me, closing the space between us. He knows I could kick his ass. His overblown ego is gonna get him in trouble with the wrong person one of these days.<br />"Carlos, sit down," <i> mi'ama </i> orders.<br />"Dirty beaner," Carlos drawls at me in a fake deep accent. "Better yet, <i> es un Ganguero." </i><br />"Carlos!" <i> mi'ama </i> reprimands sharply as she comes forward, but I get in between them and grab my brother's collar.<br />"Yeah, that's all anyone will ever think of me," I tell him. "But you keep talkin' trash and they'll think that of you, too."<br />"Brother, they'll think that of me anyway. Whether I want them to or not."<br />I release him. "You're wrong, Carlos. You can do better, be better."<br />"Than you?"<br />"Yeah, better than me and you know it," I say. "Now apologize to <i> mi'ama </i> for talkin' smack in front of her."<br />One look in my eyes and Carlos knows I'm not kidding around. "Sorry, Ma," he says, then sits back down. I don't miss his glare, though, as his ego got knocked down a peg.