James D. Thorne Grand Ballroom

Decent Essays

I, Noah A. King, am about to walk into the famous James D. Thorne Grand Ballroom with my friends Nathan and Grace. Crowds of people on both sides cheering to the top of their lungs. Things look glorified now but, things weren’t always like this. First let me introduce myself, I am Noah “Andy” King and I am 16 years old. I have been classified as a very “wired” kid but, my mother always told me “People just don’t get your way of thinking of things in life.” I have all way haven’t fit in with the crowd with my skin being colored.
Five years and three days ago, in a little town call Tollasend were the sky is painted all color and never rest, Jazmine, Nathan, Grace, and myself were bowling on 13th Street. We only had a month left of summer before we had to go back to school. As Jazmine throw her last gutter of the game she came and sat with the rest of us to join the rest of the conversation. After a long egotistic talk about who is the best and smartest we get on the topic of what it means to be African-American. This was a very confusing topic for us because we were surround by white people and we have adopted their culture. An odd silent fell among us for a minute. Then, Grace spoke hoping that the odd silent well end. “Well, being black is like living in a cardboard box,” Grace explained. To this day I don’t know what she meant but, being black to me… well I really don’t know what it means to be black. After the we finished our conversation we walked how our speared ways:

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