Jakob Shafferkoetter-My Story

The cold, winter breeze nipped at my cheeks as I end my long day at work. I pull my hat on tighter as I make my way to my truck. Frustrated with the day I just had, I quickly start my car and speed out of the parking lot down the street. Static tickles my ears as I turn my radio up, switching from station to station. A familiar name catches my attention as I switch past one of the local new stations.

The poem “To This Day” by Shane Koyczan talks about bullying and its long-term impact on his and others lives. Shane uses symbolism throughout the whole poem to show that people can get trapped in negativity and cruelty. In the photo the author uses the dark background as a symbol to show how people don't see or hear anything around them but the negative words and actions of others. The author also uses the boy in the middle of the photo as a symbol to show how people can feel when they are picked on and bullied. The boy looks like he is scared to show his face and almost like he is hiding from all of the bullying. Another symbol the author uses is the people surrounding the boy. He uses the people to show how cruelty can surround a person

“I’ll be right back, guys! I just need a breath of fresh air,” announced eighteen-year-old Alan Fenton as he walked out of the raucous party into the quiet backyard, taking out his inhaler as he went. His graduation party was just getting started, with around a hundred of Edison High School’s students already attending and even more arriving every minute. As valedictorian of all his classes, the captain of both the basketball and football teams, and the recent receiver of a scholarship to UCLA, Alan knew he had a reason to celebrate. It was great timing too, as his parents were at a Justin Bieber concert with his 16-year-old sister Sandy. The cheers from his house grew louder as his best friend and part-time DJ, Chris Waker, turned up the strains of Fetty Wap’s “Trap Queen”. Alan grinned as he turned around and went back inside the house.

We arrived at our destination… so I took my headphones out, and I put my iPhone away. I stepped off of the bus to see a large brick school building with some bricks missing and multiple cracked windows illuminated by light bulbs glowing brightly in classrooms full of innocent children. I began walking to the entrance of the school, trying to avoid the large cracks in the sidewalk that were filled with ice on this bitter December day. Snow was falling and the bitter cold and my new surroundings were shaking me to the core.

Another protest was by a young black woman named Rosa Parks in Montgomery, Alabama (Schultz, 2013) At the time, all blacks that chose to use public transportation, were required to ride in the back of the bus. Ms. Parks refused to ride in the back and this started a movement among all black in Montgomery to find other means

The elevation of the bus conflict increased on December 1, 1955, when Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat to a white person. There was a law that allowed white bus drivers to expand the “whites

This issue later created the Montgomery Bus Boycott which was led by Martin Luther King Jr. This was the African Americans way of showing their strength and pride for their race and that they should be treated just the same as the Whites. They weren't going to let their skin color define where they sit on a bus or how they are going to be treated.

Unfair? Inequal? Well, let me tell you something, black folks had to give up their seat or else they were arrested. You would think that to be told to stand up after you payed to get on a bus is just plain rude and unfair. There it goes, the word unfair.

The Black Keys play in the background, and damn if I don’t see Caleb plain as day. “These Days” is one of my favorite Black Keys songs, and I ride my high as they sing softly over smooth instrumentation. I can see Caleb screaming, but I can’t hear him over the music. I take another hit of my cigarette, lay my head back against the wall, and close my eyes.

It was a cold crisp November morning in Spokane. It was a usual day, I was getting ready for work. I was heading into town and stopped by the local cafe to get some coffee as I do every morning.

It was January 17, 1955. I was a white, young, American girl riding the Cleveland Avenue bus on my way home. We stopped two stops before mine, when a black woman got on the bus and sat in the seat behind me. I later learned her name was Rosa Parks. We hit the last stop before my stop and a very large group of working men and women from the factory across the street got on the bus. Everyone sat down and one man was left standing. A tall and muscular built man was left standing, so the bus driver told every black person in the front section to get up and move to sit or stand at the back of the bus. Everyone moved but that Rosa. When the bus driver saw her not move from her seat to make room, he asked her if she was planning on getting

I laid awake that night thinking, while the moon lit night light bleed through my shades and onto the wall. But this story should be told… from the beginning. Trudging down the stairs, I could smell the aroma of cinnamon and maple syrup growing closer. That’s how I knew it would be a good day. But a scientist doesn’t always have the right hypothesis. Then I scarfed down my breakfast like a sword fight, quick, noisy, and satisfying. After the delicious breakfast, I grabbed my bookbag and bolted out the door to catch the bus. When I took my first step out the door, I felt the cold crisp autumn air brush up against my face.

My choir teacher decided to put on the musical, Hairspray, which discusses topics of race. The teacher scanned the class for the palest of skins to put as the Corny Collins Show cast and I was sure the teacher would pass right by me. It wasn’t until a girl raised her hand and said,” Well, Ananda is White too.” As true as that was, I was also Black and would be considered a person of color. It kind of startled me that everyone preserved me in this way. It kind of made me angry, no matter how cool headed I am, that someone could throw away everything that my ancestors went through for a minute part in a play. Being the extremely shy girl that I was in my younger years, I put on a smile and put my feelings on the back burner. I learned that no matter what anyone else had to say about me, I am who I

“See you at school boys,” I said to my two sons as l walked to my car while zipping up my uniform jacket. It was sunny outside but frost still covered the ground, typical for a December day in Montana. I started the car and let it warm as I cleared frost off the windows. The morning was quiet with only a handful of cars out, so I decided to take the long way into town because I enjoyed looking for deer and turkeys. I got to the station and sipped on a cup of coffee while chatting with the operator.

Once when I was with my brother and we were driving home with the windows rolled down while listening to some rap music. Next to us appeared a white truck with two white males and they had their windows rolled down and I soon noticed they were snickering to themselves very indelicate and tasteless words about my brother. I was in utter shock when I hear them say “Nigger go back to africa with that shit.” Little did they know that my brother isn’t African he’s from Honduras and they made that assumption by looking at his skin color. I felt so despondent knowing that people in the world thought it was ok to go and say such things. My brother had never felt strange to be in his skin until that day.