Personal Narrative: I Am African American

I believe I ended up where I am in my life right now, writing about women because I hold strongly the idea that women need to lift one another up; it’s a basic tenet of my being a woman. So, when I get the opportunity to make a change, howbeit little, I’m all for it.

Being born black in the United States of America carries certain stereotypical ideas that automatically invade a person’s mind. At the top of the list they come from a single parent home, and more than likely have no relationship with their father if they even know who their father is. I was one of the fortunate few blacks in my community to be raised by my biological parents who were married long before I was born and remained married 48 years and were separated by the passing of my dad in 2014. My parents were born and raised under the harsh oppressive conditions of the Jim Crow Law southern state of Alabama that no doubt left undeniable mark on how they viewed the world; my dad was number seven of eleven children, many of them were adults when my dad was a child; two of his sisters were his teachers in school. My mom on the other hand was the third child of seventeen; four of my uncles are younger than me. I felt it imperative to mention their family order believing it to be indicative of the possible level of parenting skills that was imparted on them from their families of origin. Newly married, they moved to Los Angeles, California and a year and a half later I was born. Dad faced a different form of racism in Los Angeles than he faced in Alabama as a result he turned to alcohol to cope. My mom was a house with my first four years. Dad would drink and physically abuse my mother. I would jump on top of my mother while he would hit her and that would make him stop. My

I am an African-American male who grew up in a community that was not fortunate enough to have access to many luxuries, especially a computer science education. Seemingly in every aspect of my life, I have been the exception. Many times I was the only African-American student in my Advanced Placement courses in high school, in terms of sports I had always been the sole African-American and the shortest player on all my lacrosse teams, and progressing through school I often times was the only person out of my group of friends who wanted to do something more with the life I was given. People like me are not supposed to escape the cycle of poverty and inequality that plague the community I call home. I am not a product of the ‘projects’ or come

Every person identity with their known heritage. For myself, I identity myself as African American or black because that is what I have been told for a young age I should identity with. I am envious of everyone who can trace their heritage back and proudly pronounce their ethnic group instead of using a generic term for their racial group. For example, my supervisor is Spanish and German but raised in France. The scenic designer is Portuguese and English. Lastly, an assistant stage manager is British but was raised in American.

Most people would look at my tall, slender frame of African American descent and assume what my most favorite food items are. The majority of people probably think that my daily meal consists of crispy fried chicken, collard greens, and to top it off would be an oven-baked sweet potato pie. Well, they have sadly mistaken because when it comes to food I sometimes tend to step out of the conventional image of my people. My favorite foods-pecan pie, spaghetti, sushi-accurately expresses my personality.

I am classified as a junior but really only in my second year of college so I have at least two more years to become more assured and refined in my study of Chinese. In my level 3 Chinese course, I feel that my upcoming semester in Beijing will vastly improve my speaking and listening. I hope my plan to follow a pledge of only speaking and using Mandarin unless I’m contacting family and close friends will assist me in this challenge. I expect that my full-time language courses will also help since I will be taking twenty class hours per week focusing on comprehension, speaking, listening, and reading. I predict that being fully immersed in class and going to as many tutoring and group events will help me grow in my understanding and use of Chinese.

It was a blistering summer night at the Terre Haute Motor Speedway. The air was filled with cheering from the stands, smell of over sprayed WD-40 and the excited introductions of every race car driver's name screamed over the loud speaker. Modified, Super Modified, Midgets and Sprint cars were being pulled out of their trailers; gears and tires lay scattered across the dirt near the cars jacks like a weird game of operation ready to be played. Everything seemed to be going the way it always had before every race I'd driven, everything but the unexplainable doomed feeling I had in my gut that told me something was wrong, that this could very well be my last race.

I’m coffee bean skin, I’m brown sugar bones, I’m lion made hair. I’m African. I’m Ethiopian. But I’m not Drakes “East African girl,” or Trey Songz’s “Ethiopian Eritrean chicken,”

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

White. That is all I see; the farthest I can see is absolutely nothing: no buildings, no plants, and no people.

Eight pairs of angry legs storm forward in my direction; anxiety overwhelms me. On either side of me, I see seven individuals, each wielding a distinct look of anticipation. With each second, the distance between me and the advancing figures diminishes; still, I am motionless. One by one, the figures beside me jolt forward, carrying in their hands a baton. Milliseconds pass, and I too thrust out; my teammate hands me a baton; my portion of the race begins. As I pick up speed, I sense adrenaline invading every inch of my body. The only message that my brain transmits to my legs is “Run!” Fourth. Third. Second. First. I am in first. Never have I experienced such exhilaration. All is going well until I near the 300-meter mark; with 100 meters

It wasn’t a big moment, in fact nobody else on the course probably noticed it, but it’s a moment that I’ll never forget. I had raced the girl a few weeks ago, and had ended up beating her. At first, I didn’t even know her team was at the meet, and only realized she was there during the race. It was a hot meet, close to 100 degrees and I was probably a little dehydrated. In the middle of the course is a pretty steep hill and it was there that I began to have trouble breathing. By the middle of the hill I was almost hyperventilating, and it was then that this girl caught up to me. She could have easily passed me, and kept on running her race, but instead she slowed down and helped me fix my breathing. We ran the hill together, and soon I was breathing normally again. It was only then that we stopped running together. I beat her again that race, but it didn’t seem quite as important as before. This girl, who I had never really talked to, had stopped her race to help me, even though she could have ran a better time and placed better if she had just kept running.

It was the summer going into sophomore year. I was walking to football practice one day. It was hot; I was already sweating and needed a drink. Next thing I know a few white kids come riding by me on their bikes. One hits the brakes looks back at me and says, “You look like you could us a drink negro.” I didn’t know what to say, my face just had a blank stare. I never thought I’d have to hear that word used towards me. Déjà vu struck again. The next day I was on the same route to practice, only this time, a car with college kids passed by and they yelled out “The boarder is that way you wetback.” In a two-day span, I’ve been called names with racial slurs towards both my ethnicities. I’m here to inform you about racism and the affect it has

The stage was black there was silence throughout the whole room. Standing there my heart racing, palms sweating, stomach twisting, legs shaking. Wanting to run but there is nowhere to run and not enough time. Our number was called and the nightmare began.

To first address this problem we should understand the definition of discrimination; the unjust or prejudicial treatment of different categories of people or things. This problem is significant to me because I have personally experienced it. I have always gotten angry when I heard someone make a comment about someone’s sexuality or their skin color. Many people who I care about, making these comments. It always made me really sad to hear people I care about making such unjust remarks. However, I didn’t really start to speak up about it until I was actually discriminated.