Autobiography Of A Multicultural Fictional Autobiography

What it feels to be mixed race during a fight for black lives?. It’s very hard when it comes to being mixed, but that’s life it never comes easy. As for me being mixed I know how it feels never allowed to be our own person in a sense. I feel you shouldn’t have to say, “I’m Black” or “I’m White”, being forced to pick a side, never allowed to stand in the middle with my own ideas.

I was late for school, and my father had to walk me in to class so that my teacher would know the reason for my tardiness. My dad opened the door to my classroom, and there was a hush of silence. Everyone's eyes were fixed on my father and me. He told the teacher why I was late, gave me a kiss goodbye and left for work. As I sat down at my seat, all of my so-called friends called me names and teased me. The students teased me not because I was late, but because my father was black. They were too young to understand. All of this time, they thought that I was white, because I had fare skin like them, therefore I had to be white. Growing up having a white mother and a black father was tough. To

My entire family was born in Guadalajara, Mexico. After three and a half years of living there my family decided to seek a better future in The United States. My father would go to the United States back and forth to work and earn money to send to us in Mexico. Eventually my mother was able to get a visa and my brother along with my little sister had an alternate way into the United States. We lived in Dallas Texas and Atlanta Georgia before settling in Howard county Maryland in a very small apartment. Luckily we were doing pretty well with my dad being the only one knowing English at the time. My father was working two jobs and I was getting ready to start kindergarten. I was very excited because the education we would have received in Mexico was nothing compared to the education in Howard County. I was excited for what was to come, but there were disadvantages of knowing only Spanish. Being bullied because of my poor English had an impact on me. I was in completely separate classes learning things that were simple compared to the regular course. I was excluded from certain activities, field trips and assemblies. I was clueless at first though as I slowly learned the language I understood things a lot more.

I was born in a small ranch in Mexico, and raised in Oregon .My first year and a half I grew up with only my mother and grandmother, my father in the US trying to raise enough money to send to my mom and me . I came to the United States with my mom at the time in only understood Spanish. The Spanish language stayed with me up until I was 3 , I was the only child but my older cousins taught me a new foreign language. From the moment I learned to speak English to almost 14 years later, being a year away fro graduation its been a big struggle. Fighting against the "I cant's" and "failure" it's been a bumpy ride. Something that has really shaped my life is, as I grew up I didn't quite understand the meaning of immigrant, my 7 year old mind didn't

I was always really proud to be from Compton, CA. The rich racial and cultural history of the Hub City has had a major impact on many aspects of my life and is part of my identity. My mother is a Mexican-American, she was born in Tijuana and her family moved to Compton in 1962 when she was five. My dad was born in Colorado and his family settled in Compton in 1961 when he was four. My parents were in the same kindergarten class at Jefferson Elementary school and although they didn’t start dating until they were in their 20’s, they definitely helped each other survive the racial injustices and violence that permeated all facets of their educational experience in Compton

I had no knowledge of the English language or American culture. I never knew any other culture past my hometown’s. A fish out of water, I struggled as a first grader to learn the language, assimilate into the different culture filled with people with different physical features. I felt

To start off, both of my parents are white Americans. My father’s great grandparents came to america from czechoslovakia in the late 1800’s and same for my mothers German great grandparents. Born and raised in primarily white small towns, my parents are your stereotypical middle class white americans. About 10 years into their relationship when my mom first got pregnant with my oldest brother Dalton (23), they bought a 3 story house that was right outside of a suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of Anoka, Mn. The nearest gas station was about a 8 minute drive, and the nearest restaurant was 10. They had 3 boys together, and took in my oldest cousin Chey when she was 10 because my aunt had passed.

Before I turned four years old, my mother and I moved to join my father in Berwyn, Illinois. My sister ended having to stay back a couple of months so that she could finish her school year. We arrived to a nice apartment in the suburbs, it was a complete scenery change than what I was use to. Everyone seemed to have giant yards, bright green grass, large fences, and freshly painted houses. Back in Fresnillo, we had our large home, but it was rare for houses to have such large yards, so close to the heart of the town. From the time of the move until my first year in kindergarten, I had a bit of time to adjust, watching cartoons in English, I am not quite sure how I picked it up but I did. At that time my mother only spoke Spanish, my father is bilingual, but he would speak to us in Spanish.

Immigrating to the United States in 1993 from the former Soviet Union, my parents were forced to escape from their war-ridden countries with no money or knowledge of English. Neither of them pursued a higher education since they needed to monetarily support our family after I was born a year later. Consequently, being the firstborn to two immigrant parents became my most challenging obstacle growing up. The language barrier was difficult to overcome since no one taught me English; I spoke strictly Russian at home and began my education in a Jewish school learning Hebrew. When the time came to apply to middle and high school, I recognized that I would also not be able to rely on my parents for advice about colleges since neither of them completed

Coming in as a fourth grader at the age of nine did not look like it would be a problem, at least that is what I assumed but it provided me with all sorts of complications. I still remember my first day in class where I did not have an absolute clue of what the teacher was saying. I was sitting down, on a desk staring at a paper in which I could not understand the word “Name”. I felt lost and vulnerable to the outside world that seemed to judge every mistake I made. Seems to be a classic immigrant story and I do feel indifferent for being forced to adapt to a new country can be frightening as well as frustrating. It is a problem one has to face for one to be able to

When I first started school, I remember how difficult it was for me to make the transition from Spanish to English. My Mom left me at the door of the school in the morning, but since I was placed in an English-only classroom, the next time I opened my mouth to speak to anyone was when she picked me up again that afternoon. I didn't know what anyone was saying around me, and to make matters worse, my teacher didn't speak a single word of Spanish. That day, like every other day, I came home crying because I felt like an outsider. That year was very difficult for me because I ended up in the back corner of the classroom not participating. As a result, I had to take several years of summer school in order to catch up, something that

I was born on February 14, 1993 in the city of La Vega, Dominican Republic. I came to New York at the age of 10. The fact that my first language is Spanish placed me at a disadvantage from the minute I stepped a foot in the United States since even at the airport I was not able to communicate with the agent. My biggest struggle was school since the class was taught in English only and most of my classmates only spoke English. Despite my efforts to give it my all to learn the language and adapt to the customs of this unfamiliar place, it seemed to be a challenge I would never overcome. Since my parents and close family members mostly spoke Spanish as well, they could not help me, they only encouraged me to study and read a lot so that I would learn the language faster. I wanted to fit in with kids of my age and to understand when

The purpose for writing this narrative is to demonstrate the things that influenced me in the past to become the person who I am today. Adapting to a new culture and struggling in academics is not something I only experienced. There are many immigrant students that give up school because they can not adapt the academic challenges or the differences in the school culture. My story can be inspiring to many young immigrant students to strive for success. I went to diverse high school where immigrants are a significant portion of the student body. One of my 10th grade friend had dropped out of school simply because the subjects were too challenging for him and his perception of being a student and an immigrant. He used to think immigrant students

the day and English at night, but my transition was harder due to my poor foundations of the English language. I now had to speak, write, and read in English, when I preferred my native language, Spanish. Immaculate Heart Elementary School provided a tutor to help me read from the textbooks in my third grade class. I had difficulty communicating with the teacher and classmates. I felt embarrassed for not understanding English, and sad knowing that it was hard to speak with my Spanish accent. Even though I was placed in such an unfamiliar and difficult situation, I enjoyed the educational atmosphere. I felt safer in an environment where I had some individual attention. I began to write essays about various social studies related topics such as the 41st President of the United States and the Statue of Liberty. I recall spending a lot of my time thinking about the ideas I should mention in those essays, but I spent even more time trying to get those thoughts on lined paper. I wondered whether I was saying things the correct way. I felt behind compared to the other student in my class. I didn?t know the basics of grammar, like when to use ?is? and not ?are?, when everyone else had mastered that area of study. I struggled thinking in Spanish and

Hey if I have a chance to see you again, I'd say I forgive you for bullying