Personal Narrative-Racism

My Race is Caucasian. My Ethnicity is a German- American. My father was adopted from southern Germany at age of two, into an Italian military family. My mother’s parents came from southern Germany, after world War two. I grew up going to a German afterschool program, where I learned the German language and culture. I am able to speak, write, and understand a fair amount of German. I also danced and was part of a German-Bavarian club until age 12. My sex is female. I believe that my social class would be upper middle class, however, on the lower side of upper middle class. I technically live in Mount Kisco NY, however I went to Chappaqua schools. I spent all of my time in Mount Kisco, my best friend in high school, also was not from Chappaqua

I was born into a multicultural environment that allowed me to understand new perspectives and the world around me. At the start of my life, I was born into a poor Mexican family with no hope insight for a future that we could start anew. Through this, I learned humility, an understanding that no matter who we are or how we started, we can become so much more than we were before. By the time I was 5, my father and mother, poor illegal immigrants, had created an empire for themselves from the basis of a flower shop, and just like Andrew Carnegie, they became inspirations for many poor Mexicans back in my hometown of Cuernavaca, and  icons for myself. Their newfound riches provided me with ambition, a new understanding into the importance of

It wasn’t a typical birth. I wasn’t a typical child. And it wasn’t a typical experience. Every day felt like an endless list of obstacles waiting to pounce on the life that I just wished was normal. From the doctors performing an emergency C-section to retrieve me to being diagnosed as asthmatic, from having eating difficulties to constantly being told I was underweight, I felt like a burden to everyone around me. If I wasn’t at the doctor’s office, waiting for the doctor to repeat over and over again on how I was under the growth charts, then I was probably puking in some car on the way home. If I wasn’t inhaling medicinal mists from a nebulizer every night to pacify my wheezing, I was most likely at the pharmacy, getting my new batch of a

“Boom”!! Immediately my parents came upstairs like they were going to go run a race, and like they were going to win.They saw my door opened. My sister came to my room with her phone, and says” should i call the doctor, or should I call 911, or wait should I go get your phone and call the doctor”. “Go get my phone, and call the doctor as quick as possible” dad reply after hearing my sister Brooklyn talk a lot. And then, they heard someone knocking on the door and that was the doctor so Brooklyn opened the door, and while she was opening the door they tried to wake me up by calling my name a millions of times.But, wait I think you want to listen to the whole story.

I stared at the piece of paper on the table in front of me. I had sat at the same desk, in the same chair for over an hour now, staring at the same piece of paper. My mind had gone blank with a serious case of writer's block. I looked at the clock on the plain, beige colored wall and sighed. An hour had passed and I continued to look at that dusty, old clock on the wall. Seconds turned into minutes, which eventually turned into an hour. My long, wavy brown hair brushed over the paper that decided if I would become a lawyer or not. I had endured almost seven years of school all to stare at this paper for an hour and have nothing. My vision was blurry, but I ignored it and tried to push through my pounding headache so that I could start my LSAT

I am a 17 year old Hispanic female who was born in Denver, Co. I now live in the northern part of Denver. I attend an Apostolic church and participate in many of their activities.

I’d like to say I’m a very unique person. Not because of my hair, the way I dress, or how I look, but because of the unique things I bring with the person I am. All my life I’ve been the minority. From my preschool, to my church, my elementary and high school. Being black is something I embrace. I love my melanin skin tone, my nappy hair and I love teaching others about being a young black educated women. It hasn’t always been like that though. For majority of my life I use to try and fit in with the crowd. I use to always wear my hair straight so I could look like the girl standing next to me. My natural hair was beautiful too my mom and everyone else around me, but I felt like I had to step up and wear my hair straight everyday just to feel

Truth to be told: I don’t particularly pay attention to national events or issues. My family is also incapable of comprehending national issues, especially my parents who do not have any level of proficiency in English. My family lives in a world where we go with the flow, but there are issues that I contemplate whether or not I should be involved in, particularly race inequality. Considering the amount of tension between policemen and African-American around the nation, the race to equal treatment is still ongoing.

Ever since the terrible incident of 9/11 took place, whenever terrorism occurs, most people prematurely assume the culprit must’ve been a Muslim. These assumptions may potentially incite hate towards many innocent Muslims, because of families or friends affected by terrorism. The purpose of me telling this event is to show how although I had never done anything in my life that could harm someone, I was still verbally attacked because of who I am. There wasn’t a need for a heroic figure in my story, instead a change of perspective that turned someone anti-heroic towards the true notion of heroism.

“Jeez, I need to get into shape,” I thought as the train doors closed. Saying a quick prayer, I scanned for an open seat on the packed train. “Yes,” I whispered to myself, hiking to the only available seat. As I approached, the lady in the next seat over locked eyes with me and quickly placed her bag on the empty seat. “I’m waiting for someone!” she scolded. Nodding, I stumbled to the standing area. I waited and waited for the lady’s friend’s arrival. It never happened; instead, I heard her on the phone talking about “the dirty black girl” who tried to sit next to her.

”Take off your hoodie, open your pockets, and don't move, be still cause I saw you steal that.” If your are a black male or any color but white, Then your chances of hearing that are way higher because of the color of your skin. Unfortunately that happen too me,this Summer.

As I walked up to the starting blocks I could feel my legs shaking and tears pooling in my goggles. My pre-race playlist was already blasting in my ears but I slipped my hand into the pocket of my parka and turned up the volume to distract myself. This just might be my last race ever. A sense of panic surged through my body as the heat before me stepped up to the blocks. “A vos marques!” a loud buzzer sounds and eight girls my age launch into the air. Only about two minutes remaining before the heat finishes. With my earbuds in and my tinted race goggles on I am in another world. I was so out of it I almost didn’t notice the girl standing beside me tapping my shoulder. Reluctantly I yanked out an earbud to see what she had to say.

All people recognize race due the distinctive differences of their skin colors. Africans, Europeans, and Asians can be distinguished at a glance since the races differ is obviously from each other. If a person stated they cannot recognize race, that would not be true. Personally, is how a person’s treat the race that matters. Anyhow, I was born in a war-torn country, thus, my family and I moved from one refugee camp to the next one in search for a safe and a better place to resettle. To make a long story short, I first recognized racial differences in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, Africa. I had rocks thrown at me and was called names such as coffee pot, monkey etc., due to the color of my skin. In addition, when my family arrived in the U.S in 1994,

I, unconsciously, do and say racist things. It’s not due to the fact that I’m a racist person, it is actually just because of what I was taught, both by my family and society. Everybody gets taught racist ideals, whether it is taught directly or indirectly. I believe we could end racism fairly easily, if we made a seemingly simple change.

My interpretation to racism is different from most looking at me I am white however, I have a mixed mother, and my mother side is mixed. Being with my family and, listening to their story’s. I have noticed racism is ignorance on both sides with closed hearts and, minds however, for me I see the potential for good making me the perfect emissary for bother worlds.