Personal Narrative: I Am Racist

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

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.

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

“Boom”!! Immediately my parents came upstairs like they were going to go run a race, and like they were going to win.They saw my door opened. My sister came to my room with her phone, and says” should i call the doctor, or should I call 911, or wait should I go get your phone and call the doctor”. “Go get my phone, and call the doctor as quick as possible” dad reply after hearing my sister Brooklyn talk a lot. And then, they heard someone knocking on the door and that was the doctor so Brooklyn opened the door, and while she was opening the door they tried to wake me up by calling my name a millions of times.But, wait I think you want to listen to the whole story.

Life for me hasn’t been the easiest. I am a black woman who has to support her kid. No one ever treats me fairly. My job can barely put food on the table for my handsome 4 year old son who’s name is Grayson. My house is torn up and beat down. My floor is bare with no carpet, my room plain with no bed. My son’s life is half broken by having a white father and a black mother. My deceased husband died trying to save me two months ago when two rich white men came to my house and tried to kill us. I can’t say his name anymore. Saying his name is a just a constant reminder that life for a colored woman is not as clear or perfect as a crystal staircase.

The school was very far away, inside this old neighborhood, and was on the other side of Columbia; while we were passing the neighborhood, I had this eerie feeling and I didn’t like it, I knew from there this isn’t going to be a fun experience. My sister, my mom, and I got inside the school and were settled in from there; my 5th grade teacher name was Karen Bowling and she was the sweetest and kindest teacher, if it wasn’t for her I probably wouldn’t get comfortable with the new school and new environment that quickly. I made a few friends but still was shy and reserved, but I made a best friend that year her name was Kathryn Hamm. She had the same thinking like I did, she was funny, and we got attached quickly but by mid year things changed. I suddenly gained a lot of weight; I started looking very healthy, I had hair on my face,

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

“So are you racist?” My question was followed by hesitation. After what seemed like an eternity, he responded, “I’m not going to lie to you.”

The area I live in offers few opportunities for improving race relations; in fact, there is very little racial diversity in my region. Nevertheless, I am ready to promote better race relations at every chance. Yes, the scale on which I work is small, but it still helps to push our society to become more accepting. I have never participated in a large event or social rights movement, but I still try to make my mark.

I walked down a hallway that seemed to stretch endlessly before me. The frosted glass window on the door that spelled doom seemed to stretch further away with every step I took toward it. My heart began to beat at a more brisk pace, my palms began to sweat, and my eyes narrowed on the shiny clean brass doorknob. I had completely forgotten my mother was alongside me until she had to pull me back into reality. She grabbed my arm and tugged me forward. With slight resistance to her strong grasp we dredged on toward the door. I watched in slow motion as the doorknob turned and a giant mad scientist smiled down at me. The angle of his head allowed sadistic shadows to stretch down upon his glowing evil eyes, and his curled, sinister smile.

My dreams, hopes, and aspirations have been struck down. I don't see the point in self-success anymore when my country is going to self-destruct with Orange Hitler as our President.

Two years ago I joined a no-cut rowing club. At the time I was not what you would call athletic. I took up the sport because I thought it resembled rowing a whitewater river raft. I couldn't have been more wrong in my life.

The suspense grips my throat. Beginning to sprint, I see the man shining in the moonlight. He quickly jumps into his car. When we see him, my friends split up; half go left while the other half boot it right. In the heat of the moment, I chose to go left. I begin to calculate my odds of making it into the neighborhood before the man could spot me.