Personal Narrative: The Color Of A Car Driver

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.

Everyone in their life will face a barrier. A barrier is a challenge or obstacle that makes it difficult or prevents you from moving forward. Some examples of a barrier you would face would be a death in your family,drugs or alcohol,etc. My barrier that I faced was of the unknowing. My friends and family were all involved with my barrier. I have my barrier everywhere I go. I've been faced with my barrier for a ew years now.

On October 31, 2017, my mom expected me to be home by 12:00am. I was driving at night and noticed that I was only forty-five minutes away. I thought about taking a shortcut through the woods. The roads appeared to be working after being reconstructed. The only thing that caught my attention was a sign. I looked at the sign and noticed that I had to be careful of how I drive. I normally drive 60 mph on highways. Sometimes, I go faster than that. I took exit 240 to get home. Ten minutes later, another sign appeared. On this sign, it mentions construction ahead. Since the road was fine, I thought it would not matter. I drove straight down the road without being nervous. I suddenly had a phone call from my mother. She asked, “Where are you?” I told her that I was only ten minutes away.

I looked out the window because Chad was shoutin’ ‘bout some person as black as coal outside, so I looked for myself. My oh my, for I saw Debbie Arnolds with her red wagon full of books and newspapers. I was happy to see her, definitely, but I couldn’t talk to her. All because she was black. Except that wouldn’t stop us from seeing each other. Debbie would sneak behind our house and climb up the tree near my room, open the window, and welcome herself. All we would talk ‘bout is how the people would make peaceful marches, how they wouldn’t resort to violence because that was the right thing to do.

There was a guy driving a 30’s red car at night that didn’t have its headlights on. The guy was a 18 year old teenager that came back from his friend’s house. He was texting while he was driving.

Who am I? The question with a million answers and more questions affiliated, what makes me, me? Is it the color of my skin, the way I speak, the way I walk, my beliefs or is it my silent actions. We fit into society in pre-determined circles, organized groups. The only documentation of entry required is the pigment of my skin, or is it? Our identity encompasses our insight into who we are as people and as associates of social institutions. My identity is not simply a creation of my own thoughts and actions, although to some degree every one of us adopts an identity. Set on the broader scale our identities are more deeply determined by forces out of our direct control; Race, Stereotypes, History, Culture, and Ethnic Groups. Racism has been part and parcel of the human condition since the dawn of time.

A Color Coordinated mess. It’s funny since the fifth grade I've had my life laid out with a mission each day waiting to be fulfilled. But I’ve learned that nothing in life is one-sided and I’m not the exception. I’m what you would consider organized chaos. I have my life mapped out and my calendar booked months in advance and at the same time I can't decide what I want for dinner. I change my outfit approximately fifteen times before deciding I liked my first choice the best. I suffer from severe anxiety, indecisiveness, and yet confidence. Which I must say is an odd combination of qualities, but the day I learned to believe in myself I never went back. I expect myself to succeed as much as I expect myself to fail and keep on trying. To me

Though he’s five foot ten inches tall and claims he’s short, that is pretty tall to me, though Mark’s neon pink and jet black hair may give him an inch or two extra. It all depends on how cooperative his hair is going to be. Some days it stays in it’s combed back swoop, but other days it’s all over the place. After you get over the fact his hair is neon pink, you’ll most likely notice his eyes. Being the dark chocolate color they are, you may find yourself getting lost after staring for too long. Even if you do get lost, his warm smile typically brings you back. Sitting right above his messy stubble, you find hi smile is contagious. You could be having the worst day and having a smile on your face is the last thing imaginable, but when you

This essay is about many things that I have to put in 1,000 words. What I’ll be writing first is my learning style which is do I learn better with a visual or listening. The next paragraph is about brain dominance which is left brain and right brain I’ve taken test to so that I know if I am more right or left brained. Later you will read about my three Everest goals which are separated into my MYP learner profile goal, academic goal, and my behavior goal. Then you’ll read about my color personality which by far was the most fun test that I took because the color result that I had was actually my favorite color. After that paragraph the next paragraph is about me as a global citizen.

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.

Though it does not happen much now, throughout my childhood I have been faced with the same conflict. I am sure many others like me as well, it is a common dilemma but all effects of it can be very different. It is a question that stirs up an inner fight between you who are and who others expect you to be, or in this case carry yourself. I have always been questioned why do I act white?

Dixie: I would like to take the speaking part about color and song that we choose as a group. That leaves to things for Nicole to cover. I like your idea about wearing the same color of clothes if it works out. I would like to hear Nicole insight too. We could all pick our own color I don’t think that we would have to have just one color. What is your thought on this?

It was the burning in my throat that woke me up. I coughed, a hacking rattle, and stared as my breath steamed into the air.

empty lanes and she whispered 'let's run'. You responded by turning the music down and floor the pedal down like nobody's business. She screams her heart out and in that moment, you became one with the road and your car. Driving around with no directions and hunting corners; the pure joy of driving only some could understand. haven't felt this in a while. welcome

I wake up in the same pitch black shack that I have been living in since I was four years old. No light was ever shown. Ever since I was four I was treated differently. Everyone was separated by a tattoo with all different colors. Some people had a red tattoo,some blue and some were white but for me I was the color black. While my mom was pregnant with me she and my dad got into a car accident. They had to do an emergency C-section. The doctors said I was blessed to be alive but in reality I was cursed. I shouldn’t have survived. I escaped death. At the end of my parents funeral, my Aunt gave me a necklace that was once my mothers. The necklace could open and inside was a family portrait of us so I could remember what they looked like and to never forget them. As the years went on my color faded. I used to be purple since my mom was blue and my dad was red. When they died my Aunt took me in. She had a orange tattoo. I was considered an outlaw, so my Aunt raised me as a baby and then put me in the shack in her backyard to hide me from the government when I was only four years old. I have been teaching myself how to write, read, and basically everything I need to know. My Aunt never opens the door just in case someone would see me. So she slides food, water, clothes and books everyday under the shack to keep me alive and well. This is how my life