Personal Narrative: I Am A White

I was born into a multicultural environment that allowed me to understand new perspectives and the world around me. At the start of my life, I was born into a poor Mexican family with no hope insight for a future that we could start anew. Through this, I learned humility, an understanding that no matter who we are or how we started, we can become so much more than we were before. By the time I was 5, my father and mother, poor illegal immigrants, had created an empire for themselves from the basis of a flower shop, and just like Andrew Carnegie, they became inspirations for many poor Mexicans back in my hometown of Cuernavaca, and  icons for myself. Their newfound riches provided me with ambition, a new understanding into the importance of

Hi, Julie. I had never thought about the white culture. It took me awhile to look at everything as a whole and to point out what I believe is white culture. For example, July 4th, Thanksgiving, hamburgers, hot dogs, baseball, and football. Although I am half Hispanic, my father raised me in a white American culture. Granted part of my personal white culture included traditions from my Irish and English heritage. I began to celebrate my Hispanic heritage in my early 20's.

All throughout time people have been “the other.” Pratt refers to the other as being “Someone who is perceived by the dominant culture as not belonging, as they have been

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.

The culture I was exposed to as a child was marked by Sundays in church, home cooked southern food, and at least one TV in the house always playing Fox News, droning on and on about the state of our nation.

The worker contacted Misty Black who is a friend of Brittany Hardin. Mrs. Black stated “Brittany was in a situation where her ex (well she told me they were already broken up at the time) had assaulted her. Brittany had called me after Ronita Grady had hit her so I immediately called the police and made my way to Brittany. When I arrived the OCPD were already there speaking to Brittany. The officers also spoke to me and I told him I was the one who called them. After the police left Brittany and the boys stayed with me for a couple days because Brittany was still shaken up. The boys all seemed okay, I don’t think they really knew what had just happened. Brittany thanked me for helping her, because at the time we weren’t really speaking to

It all began in the year 1955. This was the year that so many great things shook the foundation of America that will never be forgotten for years and years to come. My name is Joyce Norman I was a military brat that was born and raised in the small town of Fayetteville, North Carolina along with one brother and four sisters. To show a little humor, this is another place like Texas that has bipolar weather from sunny skies with a hint of rain to a giant blizzard that’ll give you a death of pneumonia. Throughout, the years of my life as an African American we heard songs of change, we were insured and inspired in church that change would come some way or another either in the community or in our nation. As the world continued to change I

In life people are often misunderstood for who or what they are. Whether it being who they are or their skin, hair, personality, traits, clothing, religion, or their body. When growing up it seems no matter where I go I always see be misjudged. Usually is my skin, or the way I talk,or the way I act.

I am a spoiled rich kid. I live in an upper middle class town located in one of the prosperous countries in the world. I attend to a competitive school with qualified teachers who care about their students. I have seemingly endless opportunity to participate in my community or gain experience in a job. I have fair skin, living in a world where is being Caucasian is advantageous.

In my own experience, race has never been an issue and hasn’t restricted me in any areas. Being white, however, I may have unknowingly reaped benefits. Due to this, it is sometimes hard to wrap my mind around the obstacles other people run into based on their race. My stance on race has not evolved much from age four to seventeen. However, with information obtained through social media and in-school discussions on the topic, I have come to better understand the views of others on racial issues.

Everyone says “that won’t happen to me,” but that’s what I thought. The whole journey started about 4 years ago. I woke up one morning and I didn’t feel like myself. I had this gut feeling that something was wrong. I didn’t know what, but I knew something wasn’t right. I got in the car and started driving to my doctors office in Portland. He called me back into his room and said, “What can I do for you today?”

My race is black. I feel like I always be constrained due to my race. I’m proud to be black and love that im black. Being blacks haves it benefits. Thought out history we is as being strong and can get thought a lot of things. A lot of people doubt us but us proving them wrong. Black people are making history in many different ways, ways that you never thought would happened. We our getting degrees. We our becoming presidents. Building and owning our own business. We doing thing that people thought we wouldn’t do. The only thing about my race is that a lot of us our getting killed by cops. They say it not a race thing but to me it is. Every day you see an example of this on the news. A white person kill cop or just people. They just get handcuff

I am Black or African American, however society wants to call it. Sometimes people that because I am a lighter complexion that I have an advantage and that is definitely not the case. Unfortunately, I can remember the first time I was exposed to racism. I was in Wal-Mart with my mother standing in line and to pass time i was reading the cover of the magazines. A Caucasian lady had the nerve to say "that n***** know how to read!" As a child I didn't understand but my mother was irate. That stuck with me for a while, and it doesn't get any better when you go into stores and you are followed because of the color of your skin. At that moment I was old enough to realize what was going on and I walked out the store. I see now what my parents meant

I might be white, but I can guaranty you, during my childhood, my family did not fit into the category, of the so called ‘privileged white’. The socioeconomic ladder classified us as ‘poor white trash’, because we were migrant workers that labored in the groves in Florida and the fields and orchards in Michigan. Education, needless to say, was low on the totem pole; therefore at the age of sixteen I dropped out of school. However, when I was twenty-seven a dear friend Mary Updike, who at the time was attending Bryn Mawr College, told me I was wasting my life and should go to college and enhance my common sense with a well rounded education. So I did. And in the eighties – I graduated with a B.A. in History followed with a M.A. in Diplomatic

Getting arrested for not giving up my “colored” seat to a white man. This was an absolute outrage for many people like me. I was on my way home to work when I climbed in the bus for a ride. I sat in a colored seat specially made for colored people. The bus was fairly packed, so there weren't very many seats available. Then, a white man gets in the bus in need of a white seat. Because I was sitting near the white seats, the bus driver thought I should be the one to give up my seat.