I Was A Little Girl

Growing up in an area with a large Mexican community I never really understood how much my culture means to me. I grew up with the stories my dad and grandfather would tell me about my ancestors. My people were the raiders from the hills of Mexico City and that we were a family of warriors. I never held much weight to the warrior part of my grandfather’s stories but I did know that my great grandfather was a fighter. He left Mexico and rode the train up to Denton Texas and sold tamales on the square his entire life. He fought to give my grandfather a better life here. I don’t talk about my dad’s side of the family much, in this day in age being seen as white has more advantages than being seen as Mexican. This thought changed as I came to

I have never experienced racism. However, I am not oblivious to those who have experienced racial confrontations. I have heard nasty comments such as “spic” and “wetback” and any other derogatory term that is out there used against my people. I have not always accepted or been proud of my family’s background. expand here.

Some experiences have led me to believe that I am inferior to others because I am an immigrant. I was afraid to tell my peers that I was born outside of the United States because I was terrified that they would see me differently. I believed that my even my friends would see me differently.

I am a first generation college student that has made it to a higher education. I see myself as the second daughter, that has come out the land of pride and production. I am from Richmond, California, but that’s just where I geographically from, when in reality I came from a strong family of immigrants. My parents both came to the United States as a young 26, and 24-year-old parents of one child. I did not come until two years later that I came, I came into the world, and was already marked with the name of an anchor baby. As I grow up I did not really know what I was, what I did was always question myself, am I just a reason to keep my parents here longer? Why am I called an anchor baby? I felt that I did not fit in but my schools I went to school always had a mixture of students. I did not know what I was or who I was, I had not direct connection to any ethnicity. When I was in elementary school there where a mixture of Whites, Asians, Latinos, and African Americans ethnicities, grow up in a multicultural area I didn’t think about race or class as much as late in life. Race was a topic that I did not really think and talked about until I was placed into a private school that class was visible, and I began to be more aware or class and race. I would not talk about race or class at school, but I would wait to talk about it when I would get home.

My parents both came to this country at a very young age. My father was 16 when he first moved to the U.S. and my mother years later moved when she was 19. I am a child of immigrants and it was hard growing up. I consider myself a Mexican American or Chicana. I grew up in the suburbs of Los Angeles and later moved to Las Vegas. As I asked my father what he had to deal when he first moved he said “people would discriminate me just because I couldn’t speak well English and because of my brown skin”. “I was only 16 and wanted to live the American dream, but it was more like hell in America”. A lot of people are discriminated every day just because they aren’t Caucasian/white Americans, but they’re still American they live here and have a living here.

In the essay “Our Fear of Immigrants,” Jeremy Adam Smith writes about why it is we fear immigrants. Smith divides his essay with numerous examples and comparisons, through biological, sociological and psychological explanations. As unorthodox as it sounds, our hesitation towards outsiders can be explained in various ways we never believed imaginable; in Smith’s investigation, he unveils the bewildering reality about the contrasts between ourselves, as adults, and children when it comes to immigration. He begins with a distressful story of a classroom of 4th graders from Berkeley, California, who missed their classmate named Rodrigo when he didn’t return from Christmas break, due to his parents’ expired visa. Rodrigo’s classmates thought that it was so unfair, that they complained to their congressmen. Smith then contrasts this response of empathetic children to unsympathetic adults from Berkeley, California, who protested against immigrants who seek shelter in the U.S for the families. Smith pondered the questions: “Why do immigrants provoke such strong feelings of both empathy and revulsion, a polarization that pits fourth graders in Berkeley against the citizens of Murrieta?” and “What characteristics and qualities do Rodrigo’s classmates possess

However, some of my friends have experienced racism towards themselves just because they weren't like other and because of the way they talked. My friend was walking down the street in Oklahoma and stopped by a store to buy souvenirs for his family. He stopped by a store and found souvenirs to take back home. When he was paying the cashier asked him if he was from here and he said no. She said “Well where are you from?” And he responded, “From south Texas”. The lady had been to Texas and has visited the valley but she didn't like it because there were a lot of “Mexicans”. So Raul, my friend, didn't know what was coming so she asked him, “How come you’re not like the people from your hometown”, and he said “well what do you mean?”. She said “yeah, you don't look like them, don't dress like them, and don't talk like them, but you do look like them and have a accent.” Raul was shocked at what she was saying but just ignored her, he asked how much will it be and she said, “ well it's about $30 but since it's you it will be $40”. He looked up her and walked out of the store. When he was telling me what had happened I told him that people just don't have the respect that others want even though you show them the respect they deserve. Just knowing that there are people like that in the world scares me because when we are older and have children their

As the plane slowly landed on the airport terminal in Washington D.C., my parents held their excitement. After the long fight of waiting on the list and doing all the immigration paperwork, they awed that they finally arrived here in the United States, the land of opportunity and freedom. My parents immigrated to the United States from Vietnam. They hoped to seek a better future for themselves and for future generations. When I was a young child, my parents put in many grueling hours of work to support our family. My mother worked as a waitress and a cashier at a Chinese restaurant while my father worked at a steel factory where he assembled parts for furniture. They both worked for minimum wages which made it more difficult to have extra money to enjoy and relax. As our family lived here in the United States, my parents received some harsh judgements and critiques from American citizens. My mother got some feedback for her limited English skills, and she got taunted for that. My father openly practiced his cultural beliefs which differed from American traditional values and customs. He prayed and meditated to his God with his special incense. This behavior received some backlash from others in his workplace. As we continued to live here in the United States, immigrants widespread such like my parents have received negative judgements and misconceptions from Americans. The topic of immigration has became more controversial due to border patrol issues and illegal immigration

The year of 2014 late summer I came to America with dreams and hopes, expecting the better for me and my family. I have family that had came before me; however they weren't that respectful for someone that had been living in Mexico their whole life. I used to get put down by the way I looked, talked or how I acted. I recall that they would talk in english about me , and make fun of me , so I wouldn’t understand what they were saying. I have cousins that don't even appreciate all the sacrifices that one as a parent has to make , so they are able to give a better life for their kids. On the good side of the story I would always keep in mind how I came here? thanks to who?and why?. So I realize that I fitted in the Hispanic community by attending to Hispanic events, playing soccer, and cooking hispanic food.

I first learned about the world from my parents. Their viewpoints on people and their opinions about issues shaped my perceptions growing up. After interacting with people outside of my house, however, I began to doubt the explanations that my parents offered about issues like race and religion. For example, I distinctly remember my dad telling me to avoid befriending black people due to their “inherent aggressive behavior.” Then, I moved schools in third grade and started interacting with African American kids my age while also learning about the civil rights movement and segregation. With these new experiences and education, I realized that what my parents said to me was wrong and how our negative stereotypes of African Americans are harmful. I shared my findings with them, but they simply shrugged my comments off and kept their bigoted opinions firm despite everything I said. I think it was at that moment I realized

We were finally financially stable. Still, my parents faced much discrimination as immigrants. After the tragic incident of 9/11, my parents were perceived as outsiders since they were Middle Eastern. The community we lived in placed a negative connation on being Egyptian. Upon entering Middle School, I did not know how truly people did not see me as an American because my parents were from Egypt. I spent restless nights thinking about the way the other students in school mocked me, and I pleaded my father to help me transfer. However, my father sat me down and told me “People will come to understand who you are, just smile and everything will be okay”. Little did I know that my father’s advice would impact every part of my transition into

My dad always told me to never treat people how you want to be treated. He told me that because one day at his work one of his coworkers which was white came up to him and told him why he was working there. He told him how he barely knew english and he shouldn’t be working there. That my dad was working at a shitty job and he should go find another one. My dad simply told him “if you think I don’t have a life because Im working at a shitty job then what do you think of yourself? I don’t know english but you do and your working at the same job I am so whos the real loser here.” That gave me a way different perspective on how some people saw us. Not only did they see us as miniorties but it seemed as if they never wanted to see them as one of them. It made me think if miniorites wanted to assimulate in this country or did the people in this country not want us to assimulate.

As a child I didn't know I was different, I didn't know that the color of my skin, and the food I ate made me weird. Not until, It was pointed out to me. I grew up in Salvadoran-American household. We ate tamales and we ate burgers. We listened to Cumbia and we listened to Pop.I grew up in a house where two cultures were meshed together, but I always that about the country my parents called home. I grew up listening to the stories of how my mother grew up in El Salvador and immigrated to the United States when she was nine years old. Stories of my great grandma yelling at my aunts and my mom to milk the cows early in the morning. The story of my father crossing the border at 18 and being lost in the Mexican desert for 5 days. Stories of how my dad bought his first pair of shoes at 7 years old and how my father used to play with sticks by a creek for hours.

I 've faced many challenges because I am undocumented, my parents and I immigrated to the U.S when I was eight months old. When I was nine my parents told me I was illegal, they told me that we had crossed the border illegally and that we would get deported if the government found us. They also explained to me that being illegal meant I wouldn 't have the same opportunities but it wasn’t an excuse not try. If anything it meant I had to work twice as hard because they believe I could achieve anything with hard work. We believed that even if I was undocumented my good grades would make me an exception and every night we prayed I would receive scholarships. Since that day, if classmates or friends asked me where I was born I would say

When I take the time to reflect on what social forces have impacted my life a lot comes to mind. I was born and raised in San Jose, California which is a very multicultural area with people of all ethnic backgrounds. There was a specific juncture in my life that impacted me at a very young age. When I was about 7 or 8 years old my mom took my friend Zac and I to Burger King. While we were sitting there eating and just talking about typical things a 7 or 8 year old would talk about an elderly caucasian male approached us. Now looking back on the situation it was apparent that he was either drunk or under the influence of something. He then proceeded to start throwing racial slurs at me, and started questioning us. In his words “ why a white would be friends with a black “ in a belligerent manner. He continued, so mom called the cops and he was arrested for public intoxication. At the time I was baffled as to why he would say such things, especially to a child. I now realize in his socialization period it was a social constraint for caucasians to be friends with a minority or even sit next to or converse with one. Its unfortunate that people still haven 't come to accept social change, but more importantly I was aware of how prejudice some people are at a very young age due to this instance. Social facts are aspects of social life that shape our actions as individuals (Giddens, 2014, pg. 11). Being a victim of discrimination, seeing my mom and grandparents succeed, and