In Which Our Author Reveals His Superpower to the World (and is Vaguely Racist)

I have a secret to confess, the Internet.  You see, I'm not like you.  I have special. . . abilities.  Abilities that I struggle everyday to control.  I constantly face the temptation to use my powers for selfish gains, but I remember what every public speaker since 2002 once told me.  They said, "Remember what Spider-Man says: With great power comes great responsibility."  I then told them that Uncle Ben is actually the one who says that, and they gave me a blank look, but their words stuck with me forever.  Especially when they were all gunned down later that night.

To keep myself from temptation and to protect the ones I love, I've kept my powers a secret, but I'm ready now to face the world and all its cruelty.  I, Joe Flores, have a superpower.  I can change my ethnicity at will.  With subtle shifts in syntax, posture, clothing, and hair gel, I can become any of the vast amounts of races between black and white.  Except East Asian.  It's like my kryptonite.

Born to normal parents, I was raised Hispanic.  But just as the yellow sun of Earth changed Superman's alien DNA, Indiana's cultural homogeneity acted on my brown body in unexpected ways.

My powers first manifested during puberty, but I finally began to realize them in ninth grade.  While practicing with the cross-country team one day, I fell behind the rest, and the football players practicing nearby yelled out to me, "Run, little Abu!"  

"Odd," I thought.  "I'm not Arabian," but I put it out of my mind.  Later that year, in gym class, I thought I had made a friend in Siddarth, an Indian kid who talked to me every day and competed with me good-naturedly.  But when I mentioned that I loved my mom's Puerto Rican cooking, he gave me a look of shock and betrayal.  He called me a freak, and the rest of the class joined him, laughing as the camera panned quickly around my head.  Panicking, I pushed through the crowd and ran home to get away from their silently-mouthed jeers.  As I ran, I heard Sid shout after me, "But you're too smart to be Mexican!"

When I got home, I ran to my room, happy that both parents were at work.  I should have seen this coming, I thought.  Flashbacks came at me one after another.  Elementary school teachers unsure how to pronounce my very phonetically-spelled name.  Airport security taking me out of line while letting the rest of my family go by.  Strangers saying things in weird languages and giving me candy for no reason.  But there was no time to collect my thoughts, as I was suddenly overcome with exhaustion.  I barely managed to get my clothes off and make it into bed before collapsing unceremoniously as the screen faded to black.  

When I came to, I felt a new power coursing just under my skin.  I looked in the mirror and was startled to find that I did not recognize the person staring back at me.  Without my glasses, standing there in my white undershirt, I looked almost Mexican.  I put on the gold crucifix my mom had given me for my birthday, grabbed a denim jacket from my dad's closet and, concentrating, willed myself to grow a thin mustache.  I felt a little dizzy, but I'd done it!  Excited, I went through a deliberately-paced montage of discovery.  I realized that, in addition to being able to take on the appearance of numerous races, I could also gain their powers for short periods of time.  I had the medical expertise of the Indian, the shy invisibility of the Mexican, the histrionics of the Puerto Rican, the unconscious intimidation of the Arab, the guilt-inducing sadness of the Native American, and the Mediterranean's talent for mob leadership (a skill I only used once).

Frightened by my abilities,I suppressed them, only using them in emergencies.  But they've only gotten stronger as I've gotten older and more adept at growing facial hair.  This year I have made five Indian friends merely by walking through campus, but they've all abandoned me on learning that I was not from India but Indiana.  A week ago my roommate introduced me to a friend of his, saying, "This is my roommate Joe."  His friend held out his hand to shake mine and politely asked, "I'm sorry, how do you pronounce it?"

I have come to realize that my powers have grown too strong to keep selfishly to myself.  I have decided to take up the mantle of the crime-fighter, donning my sari, sombrero, keffiyah, eagle feathers, and beard to battle the forces of evil as Brownout, the Master of Casual Racism.