Personal Narrative-Racism

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

Truth to be told: I don’t particularly pay attention to national events or issues. My family is also incapable of comprehending national issues, especially my parents who do not have any level of proficiency in English. My family lives in a world where we go with the flow, but there are issues that I contemplate whether or not I should be involved in, particularly race inequality. Considering the amount of tension between policemen and African-American around the nation, the race to equal treatment is still ongoing.

I am a 17 year old Hispanic female who was born in Denver, Co. I now live in the northern part of Denver. I attend an Apostolic church and participate in many of their activities.

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 stared at the piece of paper on the table in front of me. I had sat at the same desk, in the same chair for over an hour now, staring at the same piece of paper. My mind had gone blank with a serious case of writer's block. I looked at the clock on the plain, beige colored wall and sighed. An hour had passed and I continued to look at that dusty, old clock on the wall. Seconds turned into minutes, which eventually turned into an hour. My long, wavy brown hair brushed over the paper that decided if I would become a lawyer or not. I had endured almost seven years of school all to stare at this paper for an hour and have nothing. My vision was blurry, but I ignored it and tried to push through my pounding headache so that I could start my LSAT

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.

Ever since the terrible incident of 9/11 took place, whenever terrorism occurs, most people prematurely assume the culprit must’ve been a Muslim. These assumptions may potentially incite hate towards many innocent Muslims, because of families or friends affected by terrorism. The purpose of me telling this event is to show how although I had never done anything in my life that could harm someone, I was still verbally attacked because of who I am. There wasn’t a need for a heroic figure in my story, instead a change of perspective that turned someone anti-heroic towards the true notion of heroism.

Im standing in line waiting my turn to race. I am at the university of tennessee about to race the 200M freestyle against 50 of the top kids in the entire southeast. I'm nervous but excited I am prepared but worried and I am thinking of everything that could go wrong but I keep my focus. I have to it's too late to go back now. Finally it's my turn I step up on the block and I get ready, the siren sounds I jump of the block into the water I try to remember everything my coach taught me in practice everything that got me to this point. I make the first turn I am in the middle of the pack making sure to pace myself turn 2 into turn 3 I am now headed down the home stretch putting everything I have into this last stretch and it pays off 3rd place and 20th place out of 50.

As humans we automatically put things into categories, that is just how our brains work. Involuntarily labeling people so we can almost find an understanding of that person before we even know their name. Unfortunately this is what has happened in our society and it continues to grow everyday. Instinctively we began to feel uncomfortable due to a known stereotype of a person of a different race or ethnic background, continuing on the stereotype leading to the exclusion of the other being that we don't even make the effort to learn about. It may be difficult but, we must ignore those stereotypes. Throw away that judgement, go out of your comfort zone when you meet new people, it might help in the change of how people see each other.

Being a colored boy in Boston doesn’t bring a smile to many faces; instead it frightens, following belittlement and fury hiding behind these masks. A place where young African Americans are expected to fail, and live in the deep depths of the ghettos. Thrown into the dark corners of society, where no one gives the slightest attention, to spare a brighter future. Chaos reigns on littered sidewalks like a mother's tears. Suspiciousness leads to imprisonment, eyes watch from every street side thugs and every blue ribboned vehicle, in this community you are a target. Gang affiliation sweeps across my dusty town; the color black belongs to this “hood” or this particular logo to another. Life here revolves around these colors and shapes and surely

“ Despite the chattering of the radio, nobody seemed to be at home. I had no clue whether my father lived here, it could have been anyone’s house, from where I stood, I needed to get inside. I knew if I hesitated, I would never do it. So in one swift motion I pushed open the window and and clambered through.” From the outside it might have not been clear it was my father’s home but the inside gave him away. The various clippings of famous blacks and the old typewriter on the desk made it obvious I had found the right place. I wandered through the apartment trailed by the dog that had been sitting on the couch when I entered. As I examined the contents of the fridge; only a carton of milk, a can of dog food, and many frozen dinners, I remembered

My huge failure was like the recapitulation of the experience of the race: I had to grow foul with knowledge, realize the futility of everything, smash everything, grow desperate, then humble, then sponge myself off the slate, as it were, in order to recover my authenticity. I had to arrive at the brink and then take a leap in the

In the rearward sitting arrangement, eagerly listening to the words getting through the speakers, what is this I listen?, pondering internally. Something so profound, brimming with feeling, and life, it's as though I went into another measurement, coasting on a billow of peacefulness. On the other hand, this inclination suddenly finished with a farewell kiss as I get ready to enter the school building. I was making the most of my initial morning timetable, finding out about straightforward arithmetic, how to coexist with my associates, playing at break, however I couldn't hold up to get lost again, and leave the natural domain with this magnificent sound of instruments and voices, ever so discreetly getting through my mom's auto speakers. The