Personal Narrative: My Racial Identity

One of the most prevalent themes throughout the world’s history is the dispute over race and racial differences. But, there is a problem: the majority of the population doesn’t have a clear understanding of what race is. Race is a socially constructed grouping of people that was created in order for people to differentiate themselves from one another and has many sources of influence. While most people believe race is determined by biological characteristics (hair type, skin color, eye shape, etc.), this is not true. To make things more complicated, there is no cut and dry definition to race. Authors of Race and Ethnicity in Society, Elizabeth Higginbotham and Margret Anderson, claim that there are seven different distinct ways to define race. They begin with the popular belief of biological characteristics, and, as mentioned before, through social construction. They go on to note that race can be formed from an ethnic group, from social class rank, from racial formation by institutions, and also can form from one’s self-definition (Higginbotham & Anderson, 2012, p. 13). All of these ways to define race have been seen throughout our history, and many of them have caused problems for minorities, especially in the United States.

Too black for the White kids, yet somehow too white for the Black kids, oh the perils of a cappuccino mixed race kid. But it’s true. My life since I was young, at least younger than my eighteen year old self, has been about which group do I most fit in with. Between the four school changes over the course of twelve years, all in white suburban towns I’ve molded myself into an array of characters.

Pg. 8 Would you describe yourself as a multiracial, or do you see yourself as belonging to a single race? Why?

It all began in the year 1955. This was the year that so many great things shook the foundation of America that will never be forgotten for years and years to come. My name is Joyce Norman I was a military brat that was born and raised in the small town of Fayetteville, North Carolina along with one brother and four sisters. To show a little humor, this is another place like Texas that has bipolar weather from sunny skies with a hint of rain to a giant blizzard that’ll give you a death of pneumonia. Throughout, the years of my life as an African American we heard songs of change, we were insured and inspired in church that change would come some way or another either in the community or in our nation. As the world continued to change I

Every person identity with their known heritage. For myself, I identity myself as African American or black because that is what I have been told for a young age I should identity with. I am envious of everyone who can trace their heritage back and proudly pronounce their ethnic group instead of using a generic term for their racial group. For example, my supervisor is Spanish and German but raised in France. The scenic designer is Portuguese and English. Lastly, an assistant stage manager is British but was raised in American.

I have been taken by rival a tribe from my homeland and since sold to outsider white men. I have done no wrongs in my lifetime. I have served an honest life doing my upmost to provide for my family and tribe. Now, I find myself restrained in this horrific place. I am laying in not only my own feces, but the feces of nearly 100 others. I am restrained to the floor of this boat with many others that look very similar to me, yet I cannot understand them. The man to my left will not stop sobbing and speaking in what sounds like gibberish to me. Every so often he gets so enthusiastic with his sorrows that one of the white men comes down and beats him within an inch of his life, he too yelling in a language I do not

Many people forget or do not realize that race is a social construct used to obtain superiority over others of different skin pigmentation. Race is defined as “a group whose inherited psychical characteristics distinguish it from another group” (Henslin, 2015, p. 263). Although the construct of race may be different in one culture to another, the idea of race is still one that has been conceived by society. There is no biological evidence that race is part of a biological makeup. Ethnicity has to do more with how someone identifies culturally, and can identify with multiple groups no matter their “racial identity.” As ethnicity is defined as “having distinctive cultural characteristics” (Henslin, 2015, p. 266). However, even though race is

Starting on my mother’s side of the family, I will start with her mother background. My great grandmother, was black, and as far as we know he parents were black as well. However, my great-great grandmother, the mother of my great grandfather was Panamanian and my great-great grandfathers, the father of my great grandfather had a Panamanian mom and a Spanish Indian and Jamaican father. My great grandfather however called himself a British subject, he was born in Panama however lived in the British west indies. My great grandfather followed his aunt to Boston because allegedly his mother died giving birth to a younger sibling and his father remarried and the step mother and my great grandfather were unable to get along. Therefore, my grandmother would be considered

traveling to have never seen a group of white women before. This discussion concerned me a bit, just as every time you travel abroad does, but I remember reflecting on the conversation after the fact. I made the realization that I had never been the racial minority ever in my life. Yet I still would not be a minority to the same degree as people of color are in our country. I, being a white female, still held privilege, the privilege of being white. This astonished me, I felt guilty for reasons unknown to me, and I felt that I had done something wrong. As I most likely had, by carrying out the micro-aggressions that we are taught at such a young age. I had not asked to be white, it was just genetics. But by being white, I held the privilege

Life for me hasn’t been the easiest. I am a black woman who has to support her kid. No one ever treats me fairly. My job can barely put food on the table for my handsome 4 year old son who’s name is Grayson. My house is torn up and beat down. My floor is bare with no carpet, my room plain with no bed. My son’s life is half broken by having a white father and a black mother. My deceased husband died trying to save me two months ago when two rich white men came to my house and tried to kill us. I can’t say his name anymore. Saying his name is a just a constant reminder that life for a colored woman is not as clear or perfect as a crystal staircase.

I do not particularly like when people use this phrase so lightly and to refer to something that is presumably in style. I have not used it myself, even when growing up when it used to be “acceptable”. I personally have a cousin that it’s a few years older than me and due to the era and country we grew up, the resources, for the children and the parents as well, were not available. Her disability was extremely severe strike and my aunt had to put her in an institution, even when she didn’t want to. I did hear other people using the term and it did stroke a chord every time someone would say it – even to this day.

Daily, people in America are categorized by their physical characteristics, lumped together as one group, and labelled with a “race.” Most assume that race and ethnicity have virtually the same definition and use the two terms interchangeably; however, ethnicity and race are two extremely diverse concepts that are frequently misconstrued by the general public. Race is the idea that people who look similar share similar backgrounds; however, genetically, this is not always the case. More accurately, ethnicity acknowledges both where a person comes from and their beliefs, practices, and cultural aspects (INSERT book CITATION).

I am a woman of color. I grew up in a city with 90% hispanics yet my community still has ideas that the entire world believes, white people are better. Although that was the collective thought of the city, my parents did not allow that thought to resonate in their parenting style. My parents came from El Salvador and became American citizen just before I was born. I grew up with them showing me how the world was viewed, full of race, but explaining that the concept was something my generation could push through. They believed in me and allowed me to express myself in any way. My parents understood that having multi languages and playing sports were ways of surpassing the boundary that white people have put on colored communities; so even in

Here it is, the section of every form I have filled out that has me second-guessing myself: race. I question why the DMV would even need to know my race, it’s not as if that goes on my license. My pencil hovers over Asian but takes a glance at Middle Eastern and then debates on whether Other suits me better. "What does Other even mean?" I mutter to myself with frustration. Should I bubble in what I see myself as or what the world sees me as?

I am black but I’m also american, a girl and gay. All those things shouldn’t matter but in this country that matters alot. Everyone has their perspective of what I am but honestly I just want to be identified simply as me. But in this day and age I have to have a bit of background information on the side so I won’t get those awkward question such as. “Are you mixed you look a bit chinese with those almond eyes?” “Oh I love your hair what are you mixed with?” To be quite honest I have no idea but I do know that I’m black no doubt about that and I have a few perks to being black but also a few set backs as well. I think that I’m at the point of internalization-commitment because I see no one for their color but more of their character and how