Personal Narrative: Growing Up In Southern California

In the heat of summer 2011, I moved from small town Statesboro, Georgia to Columbia, South Carolina. I was only six at the time, so I hadn’t really thought much about moving to a new house, new school, or even a whole other state. In actual fact, I was mostly enthusiastic about moving. This was a both positive and negative experience for my whole family. This was the year my whole life changed.

It was April of 1999. My family was at home. Children were running outside. The asphalt was burning. Cars rolled up to the entrance of the apartments and BANG. I grew up in Stockton, California. Surprisingly, as a minority, I wasn’t really a minority. There were, in fact, a large and diverse population of Asian-Americans. But, Stockton is not the ideal place to live. It was hot and dry, almost to the point of a drought. Stockton was also ranked as the one of the top 5 most dangerous cities in California. So, having a nice and safe family is kind of difficult. Eventually, my family decided to move to Crescent City, California when my dad retired. It was a world of difference. There were trees, plentiful water, and a nice cool temperature. This

Hello, reading over your discussion about growing up in Inglewood California brings to mind my African American co-worker who talks about living in Compton. She tells us often how growing up in that area you had to carry either a gun or a knife and be on guard whenever you go anywhere. She is a very dear friend of mine and she reminds me she is a changed person from the way she used to be. Her mother still lives in California but in a better neighborhood now but she is planning a trip to see her mother. My friend often tells me years ago she and I would have never gotten along because she had so much anger inside her. I am glad my friend did get out of that neighborhood alive and somehow found in her heart to not keep anger inside.

Driving down Arizona Boulevard, I was going to my house. Passing through all the main businesses and stores, something came to my mind. It was memories, memories of my 17 years here in Coolidge. You see, I have always pictured myself leaving and moving as soon as I graduated and turned 18. Leaving my small comfort zone to go live in a big city somewhere. For a period of time, I honestly didn’t even want to say where I was from because I didn’t want it to define me. As I kept on driving, thinking about this, I realized I was actually being really closed minded. It was on that day, driving through all of my familiarities, where I changed my mindset. It was when I, in fact, left Coolidge, that I started to appreciate what it’s done for me and how it shaped me into whom I grew up to be.

In 1978, when I was 14, my family moved from Phoenix, AZ to Cerritos, CA; a small city in the heart of the greater Los Angeles area. Phoenix was mainly White, Barry Goldwater conservatives trying their best to hold onto 1950’s Americana, but Los Angeles in the late 1970s was different; it was alive, vibrating to frequencies of the differing cultures that called the L.A. basin home. Looking back it still fills me with excitement, but truth be told I was scared to death. When I first arrived I had no friends, no experience to prepare me for the full on culture shock I found myself facing, nor any thought of how special that area would be to me. No other place than Southern California could have provided a better backdrop to develop the foundation

I was born at UCLA Santa Monica, yet a few days after being born my family picked up and moved to Seattle. From my first few days in the world to 4 years old, we moved all around from the West coast to the East coast until finally settling in to Santa Clarita. Although Santa Clarita is part of L.A. county it hardly feels like it. From here L.A. is approximately 35 miles away, which can be a quick 40 minutes or a grueling hour and a half. Aside from the distance our little town seems so separated from the busy city life. So much so that when I drive into L.A. I experience a culture shock. The way my brain works rapidly while trying to process every little thing I see always gives me a pounding headache. Santa Clarita has a plain Jane feel, not

Growing up in the Rio Grande Valley was an experience like no other. The RGV is full of Tex-Mex, laughs, and the most random things you can think of. Despite all its quirks it’s a beautiful place to live in, and it’s home to me.

My name is Angela Miller, I am a sothern California native with an appitite for travel. Durring my travels, I enjoy pretending to be a wildlife photographer and have been fortunate enough to capture captivating images of many creatures from stark white mountain goats from the peaks of Glacier National Park, to most recently the unnearving swamp alligators of the Louisiana

My family and I moved to the U.S from China when I was six-years-old. Our family lived in Oregon until I was fourteen – that was when my parents started a restaurant in Washougal, Washington. Our business prompted my parents to move the whole family to Washington and that was where I attended and graduated high school. I lived in Washougal until I was twenty-one years-old and a big reason that I moved back into Portland, Oregon was to be closer to my son, Skyler. While I lived in Washougal, I worked at the family restaurant until I found a job in Portland, Oregon. My parents still own the restaurant and I visit them most weekends with Skyler. Although I live in Portland, I still consider Washougal my home.

“Shawn have you ever heard of Hawaii?”, my father asked while we sat down for dinner. At that moment I already knew what was about to happen. My parents had been “joking around” recently about moving but I could tell that the jokes were progressively getting more and more serious, and this scared me. “No” I replied trying to avoid the subject. “Well it’s an amazing place, and your dad just scored a job transfer there and me and him are pretty set on it now.” I was distraught, I didn’t even want to think about leaving all of my friends and family that lived in texas.

We moved back to New Mexico but when my mom got a job in Texas I was interested to see what was instore. To my surprise, there weren’t as many horses or cowboys as I imagined would be here. The type of people I saw really surprised me. The biggest difference I saw in Texas wasn’t even what I saw; it was the feeling of mid-July humidity. We moved to Katy, a suburb of Houston, and it was the most modernized place I’ve ever lived. Now the type of people was drastically different. The People here were very open and it honestly bothered since it was so different from what I have known. But over the years it grew on me. The wide variety of things to do here really allowed my interests to flourish and I eventually found myself in love with the art and music this city brought. After 6 years of living here I think this place has defiantly become my

Welcome Julio! Where are you originally from in California? I grew up in southern California and have to admit anyone from the golden state is spoiled when it comes to weather. The average temperature is around 75 Degrees and anything just less than 70 Degrees is considered jacket weather. Growing up close to the beach I experienced what Californians consider hot weather at 85 Degrees followed by a coll offshore breeze during the summer.

It all started like a normal day here in California. I went to school and learned about who cares because I wasn’t paying attention. I got home and did my homework which was about the forest fires in California. I was really scared when I read it because I lived right on a forest line. So I asked my mom

The Central Valley has been known as the epicenter for the most diverse set of students. Each year, there are students from all backgrounds that are given a multitude of opportunities to advance towards success. I was one of those students, the only difference between me and the student working beside me, was my confidence. However, in my junior year, I noticed a clear distinction between my class and me; there was a fine line between the quantity and quality of my work and many others’ works. This notion became apparent to me when the week of finals came along, and the moans and grunts bombarded the hallways as students began to gather their study materials. Certainly, I was weary of my finals just as much as the rest of the other students were.

Moving throughout the Fox Valley was normal for me while growing up. For my elementary school years, I rarely stayed at one school for more than a year. I did not have many friends to rely on because of this, and I was often outcast by my classmates. Middle school and high school in the Menasha school district drastically changed that for the best and for the worst. I finally had a group of friends to rely on, but they were extremely harmful for me and my self confidence. Breaking away from this detrimental group marks my transition from a timorous teenager to a confident woman able to accept myself.