Personal Narrative: The Color Black

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

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

First, I’d like to start off this question by saying when I attend Huntington University in the fall of 2016, I plan on starting and participating in a pep band for the home basketball games. As a Horizon Leader, I can offer a different perspective of any stereotypes anyone may have already made. Since I am biracial with White and African American, I am apart of extremely different cultures in my everyday life. As a Horizon Leader I can inform and influence current students on the cultures I am exposed to, that they may not be. As a minority, I feel like it is my job and responsibility to be the representation of the Black community. But not only the black community, but the multiracial community as well, because being multiracial is a culture

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

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.

I interviewed an African American male in his 50s. This means he is in the middle adulthood stage of life. One of the biggest challenges that he faces is being black in America. He seemed to have a whole lot to say about this concept and struggle that he faces. Every day, all over the country, criminal activity is happening at a seemingly higher and higher rate. The evil that inhabits the globe can never be ended. There are few people, still, who choose to try. The police, the government, the news teams, all of these groups of people are supposedly dedicated to awareness and driven to push crime down to a minimum by alerting the people and keeping the peace. A self-governing species as they are, humans are prone to error, fallibility, and imperfection,

These moments didn’t just remind me what checking off the Caucasian box for all these years meant, but they also made me wonder why progress has not been made in a country that promises greatness.

With my recent launch of the Black Men Lead Initiative, it may easy for some to postulate that I have it all together as a black man. It might be part of a natural and logical progression to establish the belief that I have excelled in the area of being a strong, engaged and infallible black man. However, your speculations and assumptions would be inaccurate. Although I consider myself to be the quintessential black man, I am far from perfect. I have failed on many occasions, by the world’s standard of failure.

I’d like to say I’m a very unique person. Not because of my hair, the way I dress, or how I look, but because of the unique things I bring with the person I am. All my life I’ve been the minority. From my preschool, to my church, my elementary and high school. Being black is something I embrace. I love my melanin skin tone, my nappy hair and I love teaching others about being a young black educated women. It hasn’t always been like that though. For majority of my life I use to try and fit in with the crowd. I use to always wear my hair straight so I could look like the girl standing next to me. My natural hair was beautiful too my mom and everyone else around me, but I felt like I had to step up and wear my hair straight everyday just to feel

I do not particularly like when people use this phrase so lightly and to refer to something that is presumably in style. I have not used it myself, even when growing up when it used to be “acceptable”. I personally have a cousin that it’s a few years older than me and due to the era and country we grew up, the resources, for the children and the parents as well, were not available. Her disability was extremely severe strike and my aunt had to put her in an institution, even when she didn’t want to. I did hear other people using the term and it did stroke a chord every time someone would say it – even to this day.

I am jaded. I feel empty on the inside. It’s difficult to even describe my feelings at the moment, especially after the recent events. As I wear this skin, fear and sorrow leaks from the depths of my soul. I feel numb. African American’s are persecuted and mistreated, and I am just supposed to take it? Yes, I am supposed to take it, or become another hashtag. This time, it will say #ANOTHERANGRYBLACKwoman. At work, I hear people talking about the recent homicides of black men, and it angers me. I sometimes wonder if I should speak up about the situations, or justify the actions of the police along with the white men, as the sip their coffee in the morning.

Starting on my mother’s side of the family, I will start with her mother background. My great grandmother, was black, and as far as we know he parents were black as well. However, my great-great grandmother, the mother of my great grandfather was Panamanian and my great-great grandfathers, the father of my great grandfather had a Panamanian mom and a Spanish Indian and Jamaican father. My great grandfather however called himself a British subject, he was born in Panama however lived in the British west indies. My great grandfather followed his aunt to Boston because allegedly his mother died giving birth to a younger sibling and his father remarried and the step mother and my great grandfather were unable to get along. Therefore, my grandmother would be considered

“I'm stuck between who I am, who I want to be, and who I should be.” - Unknown

There is nothing but silence at first. Then the floor starts to crumble beneath your feet. The walls around you begin to fall to pieces. Each crack reveals a blinding white light from behind it. The ground suddenly falls apart, yet you find yourself still standing. The light from below hurts your eyes from its intensity. The walls fall away entirely, and you are no longer able to see save for the light. You shut your eyes from the pain. After a moment, the light seems to fade, and you open your eyes. You and your fellow survivors are standing in nothingness. Your surroundings are pitch black for what seems to be forever, yet each of you is totally visible. The floor suddenly starts to reappear, wooden panels suddenly flying into place under

Living in a melting pot such as Los Angeles, mentioning stereotypes would come off as a touchy subject, which in public most people would swear they don’t stereotype people — well I’ll beg to differ. Growing up, I predominately went to school and associated myself with Blacks and Hispanics. In High School, I started having friends of an even more diverse background. It is safe to say I have been exposed to a variety of people from different cultures and upbringings, therefore I have been always comfortable to be in the presents of anyone. I will not say the exposure made me color blind; I understood the concept of institutional racism, prejudice, and stereotypes at a young age. When I was younger a bunch of the non-black kids would create