In my eyes, my dad was the smartest person I knew. Loved to read books, wrote poems, sang songs, helped me solve math problems, and always knew how to fix any of our family's issues. Although in my eyes, it would seem that way I knew since I was young that for others they might not see him as the smartest person. I never knew what my dad had to experience but I believe I caught of glimpse of it one day while I was working with him. To others, he was not seen as educated and quickly I learned that I sadly, would experience the same fate. While working with my dad in west Texas, I was approached by a Middle age white woman. She began by asking if we spoke English, my father who speaks and understands most English replied quickly for us in his Hispanic accent as the lady probably expected. I continued with the conversation and the lady's expression on her face changed. She made a surprised look on her face rises her glasses and says "wow, I never met a Mexican who spoke fluent English like you before, it must have been really hard to learn". I was stunned and unsure what to tell her. What followed was a sea of questions from "where were you born," and "how did you learn?". Naively I answered all her questions and my dad just drove off unsure of what to tell me. My dad just shook his head and said d"o you see why I act the way I do, I don't let peoples preconceived notions of me change me for someone I am not, just because they think I am dumb I am not going to act in a way to change their mind." My father did not have to say anything to me for me to understand that my education level, will be forever perceived in an unfavorable way because of my race and ethnicity. This statement holds true to today where I feel as I am constantly perceived incorrectly by the world. Only my close friends and family know the real me, and don't see me being held back for my gender, or ethnicity. My dad was always shameless, always bold, always making jokes, laughing, screaming shouting. The cashier at the grocery store will sigh and make faces when my dad pulled out to pay in cash or change as if it would take him any longer than the person in front of us to figure out how much to pay. We would walk into stores or car dealerships and we were met with the same time of microaggression day after day, year after year. I would see people expressing in small ways that they had already a preconceived version of not only my dad but of me in their head. Mexican male that works a hard labor job, probably has no higher-level education, no financial education, and no math skills. What they didn't know is that my dad explained to me how to add fractions in the 3rd grade. Taught me how to play guitar in the 5th grade. Later he explained to me the Pythagorean theorem while I was struggling with math in 8th grade and they didn't know that my dad re-taught me algebra when I got to college. My Father taught me to not let others preconceived notions of me affect me and make me act like someone I am not.