They say people like me are Paraguayan. So I'll have to tell Mom and Dad why I'm going to be dressed as a maté-drinking gaucho...sometimes even in public...from now on. But I'm afraid this is how it'll go:

“Mom, Dad, I need to talk to you. Please sit down with me for a minute.”
“Okay, son. (chuckles) that's some blanket you're wearing.”
“Yeah, that's because...well, okay, here goes: I--I'm a Paraguayan.”
“You're a what? A pair of what?”
“Paraguayan. I'm a Paraguayan. I’m not American.”
(stunned silence, Mom and Dad look at each other, look down, faces expressionless. Mom breaks the heavy silence)
“What—why—this is about…nationality?”
“Honey, he means he's a Mexican.”
“Um, Dad, it's different. Paraguay is in South America and—“
“I never thought one of my own family would—would decide to be a Mexican.“
“Dad? I'm not a Mexican. And it’s not a choice, I was born this way.”
“You most certainly were not, son—those people have just gotten you mixed up, wearing sombreros and—doing stuff with their hot sauce. You need to stop it. You need to—“
“Richard, please, give him a little space. I think it’s just a phase, and it won’t hurt us for him to—celebrate Cinco de Mayo and—lowriders and—do Mexican things like that, so long as he grows out of it. I’m sure he’ll grow out of it.”
“…uh…Mom…”
“Don’t you realize what happens to Mexicans? Son, please, we love you. Very much. It’s just that Mexicans can’t do certain things we can, like have—well, happy marriages and families like us. And they all die of AIDS or drug violence—we don’t want that for you. A Mexican can’t love his—spouse—like your mother and I love each other—and they do things with their jalapenos that aren’t right, not right at all, they—“
“Dad, just hold on a minute. I knew this wouldn’t be easy for any of us, so I have this map. Here, look—here’s where I’m from, way down here, the purple thing. See? Paraguay.”
“Now son, I wasn’t born yesterday—that’s a part of Mexico, just like…Baja. Baja’s a part of Mexico, right? Well, that purple thing is another one. Here’s the border with the U.S.A., and that Paraguay of yours is waaaaay south of that border.”
“Mom, Dad, you have to understand…the only reason Paraguayans get confused for Mexicans is that we both live south of the border, and there’s so few Paraguayans compared to all the Mexicans—nobody really knows what we are.”
“I know what they are, all right. They’re just another kind of Mexican! And I don’t want you wearing Mexican clothes in the house. That’s final.”
“Okay, I won’t, I’ll just wear PARAGUAYAN clothes. You can’t complain about that.”
“Sure, go ahead! You can wear ‘em all the way back across the Rio Grande, back to where you got into this burrito and taco stuff from those wetback friends of yours!”
(Exeunt Paraguayan, rolling eyes)