Overcoming Racism Narrative

“Get out of my car,” said my mom with a smile. Wearing an unnecessarily large backpack and reveling in the significance of the moment, I caught my reflection in the window: a young, slender boy with dark skin from my father, almond-shaped eyes from my mother, and a big smile all my own. I had a little hop in my step, pleased with what I saw. It was my first day at Thomas Jefferson High School for Science and Technology (TJ).

I asked my mom “what’s wrong,” she replied with a sorrowful “your Aunt Lisa is in trouble, we must leave now.” The worst part of all of this was my Aunt Lisa’s son was with us, Matthew. He did not know what to think or believe. No one knew the world would slowly start shattering beneath all of us that morning. We drove to her house, we saw ambulances and police cars driving by, that did not help our nerves at all. We finally arrived at her apartment, we never thought all of those emergency vehicles would be going there. My brother and I stay in the car since I was only eight and he was only eleven. My mom and cousin run into the apartment hoping to only find my Aunt had fallen and is unconscious, or she is passed out drunk, just let it be something that is not permanent. What they come to find is that my Aunt is laying on the floor, unconscious, but cold as ice. It was not from someone killing her, or us getting there too late. She had died twenty-four minutes before that phone

I remember waking up that day and that feeling in my stomach, knowing what was about to happen. Growing up I knew about my father's sickness. My family, I recall, was always supportive. No one ever thinks about how one day, everyone you’re around for years, can just vanish. I cherished my friends as I was growing up. I lived there for a majority of my life, up until fourth grade. I remember sitting at a neighbor's house and having the mother come into the room and inform me that I need to be home swiftly. As I ran home, my head was crowded with thoughts to the point where I could not even think about why I was supposed to be home quickly. That day marked the transition of what would be the biggest change in my life. As by dad became sicker,

Pulling up at the hospital; I had no idea what I was about to endure for the first time. I walked to the end of the hall to see someone that meant so much to me laying there lifeless. I stood at the foot of his hospital bed; for a moment it seemed as if time had frozen. I was there with one other person when two nurses walked in to tell me “we see no signs of improvement, we are going to pull the plug”. I stood there and watched my best friend breath his last breath. When they allowed me to go back into the room, I immediately checked to see if he was still breathing. I walked to his side, rested my hand on his cold shoulder and prayed to God that this wasn’t real. Later flowers were piled up in the worst way and no one knew what to say or if they should speak at all. This amazing person was buried and I blamed God for the loss of his life and the physical pain that flooded my body. I couldn’t accept what had happened and told myself that it wasn’t real. I was so angry at God for making me go through this that I had lost all faith in him. My relationship with God was so amazing before I experienced this that I couldn’t understand why he would want this for me. I continued to question everything that I had ever known that I didn’t know what to believe in

I could hear my breathing as if it was a voluntary action. As I saw my mom car come screeching into the driveway, she rushed out, I ran up to her as I tearfully asked, "Is he okay?" With hesitancy and a sorrow- filled voice she said, "He's dead," I screamed over and over again, "No, no, not my brother! Anyone but him!" and I broke down crying, I felt as if I was paralyzed, I felt like I was suffocating; as if a giant hand was clamped around my heart, I wanted to run, I wanted to scream, I wanted for it to not be

During that situation, I was terrified because I felt an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. At the time, my uncle had recently passed away from the same medical condition as my mother. That is why I continually thought how would my life be like without her. But when my mother and I arrived at the hospital, it felt as if the weight of the world was lifted from my shoulders. This is because throughout the situation, I noticed how the doctors and the staff focused on doing what was needed to help my mother. They

People were coming out injured and screaming. I kept thinking about all my friends and family. Where were they and are they okay? My mom came and got me. It looked like she came out of the church because she was all dirty and full of dust. We rushed and left to go home as soon as possible. Police kept warning everyone to stay inside and to not let anyone outside. This all felt like a dream. I never thought this would happen. We sat and watched the news. The reporter said, “Twenty two people reported injured, and four dead.” I was shocked. Who were those four people, why did it have to be four people? Later on in the night my mom was making supper and the news reporter was going to release the names of the injured and dead. He started reading off names of the injured and then he got to the for dead. The reporter read “Addie Mae Collins 14, Denise McNair 11, Carole Robertson 14, Cynthia Wesley 14, all found dead in the basement restroom rubble.”. As soon as he read off the first name I could not stop crying. These were my friends from church. At that point, I was in trembling. I felt like the air was taken out of me.They were so young. Why did they have to die?

At 8:46 am that morning I felt a sharp pain in my side. It was then that I realized that an airplane had hit me in the side. Parts of me were falling apart and I did not know what to do. As I stood there in despair and not knowing what to do I just looked out and saw many things happen at once. People were scramming to get out and to find safety from this disaster and me. The police and firemen arrived and tried to help the people. Minutes later at 9:03 am my brother who still stood tall and strong was also hit by an airplane. I couldn’t bear to look at him and the pain that he was going through. Though I was in

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

My dad pulled me out of the chapel and told me it was okay to cry, that the only way to get through something was to accept what had happened, and that if that made me cry, it was okay. Everybody sees crying as a weakness but it is not. Crying is a coping method for me, and many other people that i know. After the ceremony, many people left and went home. As i collected myself, I watched the leaves fall off the trees and to the ground as we followed the hearse that carried my great grandmother inside of it. We got out of the car and walked to the burial, where everybody stood and said their last words about Nannie. I stood in between my dad and my grandma, she reached into her pocket and handed me the cross that i had given to my great grandmother. I set it down in her right hand, remembering her telling me how much she loved her cross and how she felt that it would always keep her safe.

My mom kept saying "I have got to go see Fran. I need to see with my brother" My mom ran down stairs to get ready to go, I followed her and just stood there, still paralyzed. She hugged me and said that she loved me. I had never seen my mom so panicked. She went into the bathroom to take a shower and I could still hear her sobbing through the door. I was all by myself, now. I was standing in the middle of the family room as the words "He is dead" pierced my heart like daggers of ice. I was screaming OH, GOD NO, and started to cry uncontrollably. The realization that I would never see my uncle again struck me. After I got myself under control I went and packed my things to leave with my mother. As soon as we were done we were on the next flight to New Jersey.

It all happened in an instant, one second he was so alive and the next all the life had rushed out of him, leaving his body an empty shell. The woman next to me began to cry. I looked around and noticed people all around me were crying. Wet, heavy tears fell down their faces in mourning for people they never knew. I do not think ever felt as close to a group of strangers as in that moment.

The central idea of "the Father of Chinese Aviation" by Rebecca Maksel is that taking risks is worth it if the goal is important. The central idea is not explicitly stated in the text. Feng Ru's goal was to build and design aircrafts of his own. This goal was important because he wanted to help China get more prosperity, richer, and for them to be more known. To reach his goal, Feng Ru had to overcome racism. In paragraph 10, the text states, "Anti-Chinese sentiment was on the rise in "the American West". This shows that people are not liking the Chinese. I infer that these people aren't being nice and are bring racist. Another obstacle was to overcome was earthquakes. In paragraph 6, the text states, "San Francisco's massive earthquake and

The day of January 15, 2014, was a day that crushed many people including myself. As school got out, my parents picked me up, but something was odd with both of them. I asked what was going on, and my mom told me the news that sent a chill down my spine. I was told that my Uncle Adam had been shot and passed away that morning. I thought it was some cruel joke at first and did not believe a word of it, but my mom continued to tell me she was flying out to Washington to be there with streams of tears down her face. It finally hit me, and it took every bit of strength not to start breaking down. This was also the week before we had midterms and because of this, I was not able to go to Washington to attend my Uncles funeral. This was the first death of someone close to me I have ever had to deal with.

I remember the exact feeling that came over me when I first heard very clearly. My mom then came in from another room and was extremely pale. Her eyes were as watery as a flooded river during a storm. I saw her, and she saw me. We both, crying like babies, had a long and love-filled embrace in the middle of my house. I am not going to go into detail about everything else that happened, but no more than two hours after that moment my mom and I were in a car on the way to the airport to fly to England. This was one of the hardest plane rides I have ever had to experience. When we arrived to my mom's hometown, Liverpool, an array of sorrow and sadness filled the air. On the other hand, there was also a huge feeling of love. I felt a deep connection with every one of my family members. We were all together, and nowhere else would we rather have been at that time. We went on to grow so much closer as a family.