Personal Narrative: 400 Kids In A White School

“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'm a student from another school the main school I went to was Potomac State College in West Virginia. It's a predominally white school and it was a couple of African Americans and greater part whites. The sum prejudice I continued at that school was sufficient for me to go to HBCU. I got shot at and called a wide range of names because of the shade of my skin. I wasn't generally glad where I inhabited as well. It was nation situated; the closes store was 1 hour away. It takes a while to go anyplace. It simply wasn't the spot for a city young lady like me.

Too black for the White kids, yet somehow too white for the Black kids, oh the perils of a cappuccino mixed race kid. But it’s true. My life since I was young, at least younger than my eighteen year old self, has been about which group do I most fit in with. Between the four school changes over the course of twelve years, all in white suburban towns I’ve molded myself into an array of characters.

Being a Redkin at Chowchilla Union High School was full of great memories with even greater people. All four years at this school were amazing, but senior year was my favorite. When senior year first started I was playing tennis with a team that had a lot of potential. It was my second year playing as the number one singles and at the number one doubles spot with my partner Amy. While season was in progress homecoming was coming up and I was nominated to run for homecoming queen. On the big game day I wore an aqua dress, everyone said I looked like The Little Mermaid, the sprinklers even shot out behind me. I was nervous as well as all the other nominees. After Cooper Seals got called and crowned homecoming queen they announced my name. I

There is yelling all around me. I’m at the point of no return. No matter how badly I want to back out, I must go forward, push through, and face adversity. Even though there are eight other students just like me, I feel as though I am going into the devil’s stomach alone. Our mission was to desegregate schools. Me and eight other kids were allowed to go into the all-white Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas. I remember three years ago there was a court case, Brown versus Board of Education I think it was. In this case, we received a small victory because the segregation of schools was declared unconstitutional. We had to wait 3 years until now, but we’ve made it here. We have already faced two attempts before this. The first try, the

I went to a predominately black high school in South Phoenix Arizona for my freshman and sophomore

When my mother decided to quit her accounting job to homeschool me (and the other future siblings that were not in existence at this point) it was hard. Being a homeschooled black family was even more isolating since it was rare to find another black family that homeschooled. At this point in our lives, she had never been surrounded with diversity so stepping outside of her comfort zone and joining an all-white homeschooled group was a brave step. But little did she know that her hopes of a positive experience would be crushed due to prejudice. I was too young to recognize all of the prejudice that the other moms held against her, but I can only accept it as a bigoted reality that some may choose to live in.

It was a foggy day around my neighborhood so I thought it wasn’t a good idea to go out.The paper boy threw a newspaper in front of my house so I went out to get it.I see some white boys in a truck in the distance they have something in there hand, they get closer and I see they have rocks in their hand I run home while they were bombarding me with rocks.I made home and I'm bleeding from my head, I clean myself up and I see it left a gash on my head.I went downstairs and heard the phone ring up stairs I pick up the phone and find out that I have been accepted in an all white school, the first thing I hope for is that those white boys are not at that school to.

I felt the eyes of the other students burning holes through my skin. There was no escaping from reading in front of class, not this time. My voice stuttered, my palms sweated, and my face turned red as I looked at the blurred words on the page. I tried and failed to make sense of the book in front me. I wished, I was invisible.

Being Asian in a racially homogenous school, it was evident that I did not belong. The manners I have learned as child, such as bowing adults, avoiding eye contact, and receiving items from adults using two hands, only helped my difference less subtle. In high school, I was excited to start a bible study class for recent Korean immigrant teenagers. My Korean language skills combined with my, now, more American mannerisms were deemed too American. Even with my efforts, I was eventually rejected from the group as a “Korean wannabe.” At UIC, I automatically sought out other Korean American students. I had initially thought that with our relatively similar upbringings would unite us. I only came to realize that the university’s sole Korean American

Don’t make waves at holiday dinners, don’t let on how much you know, and don’t you dare challenge the status quo. It was never a rule, more like a firm plea to for once hold back that raunchy joke, that probing question, or that twisted facial expression.

Growing up in the ghetto is one of the toughest endeavours anyone can go though. I’m not talking about a ghetto that's inherited by nothing other than a single race as defined, but the stereotypical ghetto with guns and poor housing, houses without doors, that make a Sunday driver want to get out of there as soon as possible before they get mugged or worse. Living in South Lansing on Martin Luther King Jr. and right next to Board of Water and Light weren’t the worst ghettos in Michigan, however, they still weren’t the best place for anybody to live around. Once when I was living in Traditions, on MLK Blvd., two people were shot right in our backyard, which wasn’t even a surprise for us because something like that was always happening around

I grew up in a small town in Conway, Arkansas. From a very young age my mother always instilled in me how important education is; encouraging me to always put forth my full effort no matter how small or large the task may seem. Naturally, being the young child that I was, ready to absorb any little bit of information I could grasp, I took that to heart. I didn’t go to one of the big fancy schools that are seen on the list of “America’s Top 100 Elementary Schools”. However, I was doing rather well where I was. I always had straight A’s in each of my classes and I was even one of the school student ambassadors for multiple years. I was not only seen as an intelligent student, but also a leader. Then my mom got married and right at the start of

How many times have we heard that because a White American had no direct involvement in African enslavement, they could not possibly be a beneficiary of any privilege stemming from racial inequity? That is, because they do not practice overt racism and receive a monthly one-thousand dollar check for being white, they could not benefit from institutional racism. Of course, this is not something all White Americans assert. But due to miseducation in the home, many White Americans become indoctrinated in inaccuracies about the past, the present, and the future of the United States of America. Often, caretakers of white children overlook conversations about white privilege, thus distorting their children’s perspective of the outside world.

Racial Inequality Situation : A black man in jail thinking about the unfair society I had a pencil the year I came to jail It wore out in a week from writing Penning down my thoughts for all I can Crying in the jail cell counting the bars I sat down on the cold floor with many scars I was all alone No family, no friends, separated from home