My Family And The Rican

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

It is crazy how much acceptance and understanding comes out of hearing someone else’s narrative. Yesterday, I read an academic journal by Traci Fordham-Hernandez titled, Raising Chicanos in the Great White North: A White Mother’s Muse, and it gave me a new perspective on the challenges that parents with two different ethnicities, cultures, and customs face when raising children. Undeniably, preserving the customs of our Mexican heritage mom has been something that you constantly try to instill in us so that we do not forget who we are. Traci, the mother in this narrative, is white, her husband is Mexican-American/ Chicano, and her children areLrt brown Mexican-American/Chicana/o. Just to give you a little bit of background mom, Traci lives

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

Much to my own embarrassment, my Hispanic heritage had been a thing I hardly thought of. My Father left my family when I was young, and with him went the hopeful wisps I had of learning about myself. It’s not to say that I wasn’t aware that I was Hispanic, but rather, growing up in a mainly white household I didn’t think I had any right to claim my ethnicity. However, the more I look around me and learn about the community Hispanics have grown accustomed to, the more I find that I understand where I came from. To me, being Hispanic isn’t about what you were told when you were younger, or the traditions you grew up with. Rather, being Hispanic is about learning where you come from, and learning about those who share your same heritage. ‘Hispanic’

In the United States early history, Native Americans, Africans and Europeans were marginalized by White People, and categorized as the minorities because they were seen as the inferior race. For nearly three centuries, the criteria for membership in these groups were similar, comprising a person's appearance, their social circle (how they lived), and their known non-White ancestry. History played a major part, as persons with known slave ancestors were assumed to be African (or, in later usage, black), regardless of whether they also had European ancestry. Most often these minorities face significant discrimination in various forms whether through voting, law policy, unequal pay, or even implicit racism, minorities of all kinds have been and still are being put down today. The book Between the World and Me is a letter to Ta-Nehisi Coates’s fifteen-year-old son, Samori. He weaves his personal, historical, and intellectual development into his ruminations on how to live in a black body in America. Not only does Coates give his personal experience in how he experience in first hand discrimination, racism, marginalization but he also gives vivid images on how he lived multiple worlds and how those experiences changed him. In “How to Tame a Wild Tongue”, Gloria Anzaldua exposes her feelings about social and cultural difficulties that Mexican immigrants face when being raised in the United States. She establishes comparisons among English, Spanish and their variations on how

My grandparents were both born and raised in Cidra, Puerto Rico and so were their three children. They wanted to start a new beginning. Though the exact date is forgotten my grandparents moved to Cleveland, Ohio sometime in 1989. My grandparents were very poor when they lived in Puerto Rico since there were not many job opportunities and barely any resources, my grandparents could barely make ends meet.They wanted to give their children to have more opportunities and resources that they didn't have when they were younger, so they decided to leave their home in Cidra. They choose to move to Cleveland because they already had some family down here such as brothers, sisters, and even cousins.When my grandparents got to Cleveland they already knew they made the right decision for their family, Cleveland gave them a more stable life then what they had in Puerto Rico. There were better-educated schools in Cleveland for their children unlike in Puerto Rico, the food in Cleveland was way more affordable, medicine as well, and it was easier to find jobs that paid well.

My pre-adolescent years were spent in a community thick with diversity. My friendships were as diverse as the environment in which I lived. It never struck me that racial and ethnic ideals separated people in society. However, upon moving to a predominately white upper-class community I began to question such racial and ethnic ideas. From my adolescent years through today I began noticing that certain people are viewed differently for reasons relating to race and ethnicity. As a result, the most recent community I grew up in has kept me sheltered from aspects of society. As a product of a community where majorities existed, I found myself unexposed to the full understanding of race and ethnicity. Prior to the class I had never fully dealt with issues of race or ethnicity, as a result I wondered why they would be of any importance in my life.

Generations upon generations of people have been thriving in Spanish speaking countries. Cuba is no different, through traditional clothing and special holidays they always are in tune with the past. With flamboyant traditional attire, that rivals the suns bright color and Spring flowers, coupled with fun to watch free flowing up beat music like Guaguancó or Pachanga, the Cuban culture is very exciting. In order to start to describe my family ties with Cuba, I will use an analogy: With every spin of a vibrant dress it seems as if the hands of time slowly turn back time. As the clock goes back so does my family history. In the early 1920's my great grandmother and her family made the trip from Spain to Cuba. Ever since then my family has had bearings

Growing up I believed that being Hispanic meant being a particular shade of brown that had to be just right. I had no concept of colorism during my childhood and adolescents and had a meager understanding of racism and how it looked like to be discriminated against. Furthermore, less of understanding was diluted even further by my struggle with accepting my romantic and sexual orientation. The nuance of those identities and my many others left me exploring those intersections within myself than exploring the greater picture of social discourse. This all ignoring my lack access to information only found in higher education. Once I had access to this information and meet others that were like me and different than me, I starting learning that what it means to be Hispanic is vastly different than what I thought.

Being born into a Latino immigrant family has had both perks and downsides throughout my life. I was born into a diverse culture of incredible food, a beautiful language, many traditions, and a huge community of wonderful people. However, I don’t feel as if I live in a community where I fully belong. My entire life, I’ve lived in Rhinebeck, NY, a place where diversity is not a strong suit. I’ve gone to a school filled with kids whose lives are completely different than mine. In my class, there are only two Latino students: me and another girl named Iridian. Of course, my skin color and curly hair have made me feel as if I stick out like a sore thumb. In elementary school, I thought it was the only thing that set me apart from peers.

Race and ethnicity is something that we all have to live with because we all have a race and ethnicity that claims us. Race and ethnicity was something discussed daily at my household because I was the only Hispanic at my school until the third grade. This was difficult because as a child it’s hard to understand why my skin color, language, and ideals are different. I wouldn’t have survived school without my parents and support from my instructors that allowed me to transition into the mainstream without a traumatic effect. Throughout the year my parents would take me to activities like Cinco De Mayo, Religious activities, Independence of Mexico, and other cultural events that celebrated our history and culture. This helped feed my love for my culture and ancestors. Race is usually determined by how one looks but your

Growing up, my parents sacrificed endlessly to ensure I would thrive in America; they were Mexican immigrants, weren’t fluent in English, and struggled to assimilate into American culture. Their barriers wouldn’t stop them from presenting me with an opportunistic life. I didn’t have the luxury of parents that had proper schooling; all they taught me was to work hard and to not allow anything to bring me down. I was raised in a low-income neighborhood, and as my peers were entangling themselves in drugs and gangs, I focused on my schooling. I knew the importance of education and all the fruits of labor that would eventually come with it. I didn't’ fall into peer pressure, I surpassed the expectations of my family, and most importantly, did not fall into the negative statistics that correlate with Latinos.

Before I knew what was happening, I was on stage in front of 6,000 of my peers. I tapped the microphone, and a screeching noise filled the room, and left as quickly as it had come. I gulped for the hundredth time in the past three days, and I began to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen of Tennyson High School, you are here today to finally listen to me. Not to taunt or tease me, but to listen to me. As many of you know, I am of Native American descent, and look different than many of you here. I am made fun of by many of you because of this fact. However, this is really unfair. I may not be as smart as some of you, or be able to speak as well as some of you, but I am no different. You think that, but it is untrue, because you don’t the truth behind the red skin! My red skin comes from many ancestors living among the wild, as all of our ancestors had to live. My red skin is a show of their hard work and sacrifice, like all of our ancestors had. However, my red skin is just a color, just like black, just like white, and even just like purple. We are no different, you and I! We both live in the same community! We are all neighbors! So here I stand in front of you- not as a student, nor a peer, not even a kid. Today, I stand in front of you as someone to shine light onto your eyes. A light to show you the truth of the red skin! We could live together, but not as people that discriminate against each other by their skin, but as people who live together by their hearts. Now I leave it up to you, to choose your future, as I hope you allow me to choose

The following paper will discuss two of the major dimensions of my cultural identity, and analyze the way in which my identity holds privileges, or has exposed me to oppression. Being that I am white, I have lived a life of privilege simply because of the color of my skin. I have been afforded opportunities, and lived a life free from persecution due to my skin color. I have also lived a life that has been impacted by oppression because of my female identity. This unique position between privilege and oppression is where I live my life.

I’m native American someone who is indigenous to north America. I came to this identity at young age because both my parent practice our traditional ways and culture beliefs. My identity to me is very important because it plays profound impact for shaping me. It native cultural we do a lot of ceremony’s and I took part in at young age. To Native people our traditions is very sacred thing to us and I’ve always felt that way. I remember witnessing a ceremony around 7 or 8, we went south Dakota to attend sun dance. It ceremony where you don’t eat or drink for four days and you offer of your flesh by tying rope to a tree and you piece little wood stakes on each side of your chest and you lean back until the stakes are rip out of your chest. After that you do your back by dragging 7 buffalo skulls across the ground until they rip out of skin. Seeing never bother to me but it was very powerful thing to see and I think that when I started to get into my heritage. After that I learn how to dance, sing traditional songs and learn from elder on how to make native flutes. They’re was powerful experience I had in 8th grade that to me made taught me prejudice can happen from any color person and I think that when society taught me who I am. I was harassed by Latino kid in class and I did something to piss him off and his response was “go back to your home land” I was furious to hear this so I punch him in face. After 8th grade I left Sonoma county and went to boarding school for only