Personal Narrative: If 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

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.

I am an African American. You must be wondering what’s my name since im “black”, you might be thinking that its ghetto, right? No need to know where I came from, you must think that I come from the projects right? It’s not like it’s important to you. You probably think that my future plans are that I won’t finished high school and that I will become pregnant. One look at the color of my skin is all it takes. Right? Look again.

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.

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

I have this fear of being demoted because the way I look. I’m in a constant battle with the questions, am I white or am I mexican? I have an identity crisis on my hands, and growing up those questions weren’t any of my concerns. During the duration of my experiences involving race I have been placed into stereotypes that deceive who I really am. I would look too “mexican” to wear that outfit or I would sound too “white” to learn Spanish. Racial categories are both confusing and senseless, yet is a significant part in our society.

“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.

It wasn’t a typical birth. I wasn’t a typical child. And it wasn’t a typical experience. Every day felt like an endless list of obstacles waiting to pounce on the life that I just wished was normal. From the doctors performing an emergency C-section to retrieve me to being diagnosed as asthmatic, from having eating difficulties to constantly being told I was underweight, I felt like a burden to everyone around me. If I wasn’t at the doctor’s office, waiting for the doctor to repeat over and over again on how I was under the growth charts, then I was probably puking in some car on the way home. If I wasn’t inhaling medicinal mists from a nebulizer every night to pacify my wheezing, I was most likely at the pharmacy, getting my new batch of a

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.”

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.

During lunch at the campus cafeteria, Mildred noticed the dirty tables, the overworked cashiers and the exorbitant price for a watery soda.

As a white person that was born and raised in Hawaii I cannot recall many racist acts toward me that have affected me. Any events I can remember are very minor and in no way do I mean to say that I have it bad because I do have it really good in a world where lots of people have it much worse. At first I could not think of any incidents and had to ask my mother if she remembered me telling her any. She only remembered two I had been upset about at the time but couldn’t even remember now. I can only think of one establishment incident that has happened in most restaurants we go to and only a few incidents in school.

It was lunch time and I was sitting with Gordy. Everybody was talking about this new guy and how he scared them. Gordy asked me