Personal Narrative : Why Do Not?

Of course the norm for me is that of any citizen living in zone three.

The social norm I broke is making too much eye contact, or staring excessively, at my teachers. While sitting in class, I stared at my teachers more than I stared at my paper or looked around the classroom. It is usually normal for students to stare down at their desks and not look at the teacher a lot.

I grew up as one of the hardest things to commit to, black and alternative. My meaning of alternative is being interested in goth fashion and heavy metal music. From what I was told, being black is listening to hip-hop and dressing like everyone else around them or what is the social norm. Clearly, my definition of alterative is contrasting on what it means to be “black.” I say it's hard to commit because coming from a closed black family, I felt pressed to let go of what I felt about myself just to make them happy. Questions like, ‘’Why are you trying so hard to be different?’’ or ‘’Who told you that was okay?’’ Still replay in my head whenever I decide to wear something that I would feel most comfortable in. Not long ago, I got into an arguement

Hi iam Edgardo Flores i was born in casa grande, az not that far away from our state capital,Phoenix, Az.theres nothing better to do in a hot summer than going out with the friends to a lake and have a blast riding jet skis boats and my favorite, swimming!My activites of the day are shooting,riding horses,and my favorite one is quad riding.Thats right! ive been doing these fun exciting hobbies since i was 9 years old.pretty young huh?

I quickly swallowed my homemade authentic Indian food leftovers and gulped down my chocolate milk. Looking down at my watch that read 11:28am, I knew that I only had two minutes until my most favorite part of the day: recess. This particular day in 5th grade, I had run a lap around the playground before getting the rest of recess to myself. As I started walking for my warmup, another student ran up and said, “My parents said that your people caused 9/11.” Completely caught off guard, I held back the tears in my eyes and tried to shake off his comment. I had never encountered something like this.

“You’re pretty for someone who has dark skin.” I stood there in the middle of my 10th grade English class, stunned. Trying to fathom whether or not to accept it or acknowledge it was a backhanded compliment. I sat there thinking to myself did this other student who shares the same color skin as me, just feel the need to associate my beauty despite my color? This was just one of many times in my life I had encountered phrases like that, but that day in my English class, I realized society had created a social norm that just wasn't going to sit right with me.

So then I go, and find Mrs. Price and tell her, ¨The red sweater wasn't mine. I knew adults weren't right all the time.¨ So I yell at the top of my lungs to Mrs. Price, ¨YOU BELIEVE ALL THE STUDENTS AND YOU ALWAYS YELL AT ME, I WISH YOU NEVER TEACHED HERE, I JUST WANT TO PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE.” Then Mrs. Price tells me to go to the office. So I stomp my feet on the floor ,and go to the office. When I get into Mr. BobbyJoe’s office i talk to him and tell him what had happened. He says to me, “Now Rachel I know how you feel if I were you I would do the same thing. So what i want you to do is to go and tell Mrs. Price your sorry while I go and call your parents then come back.” So I go back to the class room and tell Mrs. Price that I was

Over the past week, I went into an elevator and stood with my back to the doors as I face everybody. I had the perfect opportunity to test this out when my cousin was in the hospital having her baby. Before completing this task, I felt nervous and shy to violate this social norm. During this task, I felt very uncomfortable and embarrassed, like I was doing something wrong. But after, I thought it was so funny that I was so nervous. I got many different reactions while completing this task. I received many blank stares, confused looks, and many looked like they were going to burst out into laughter. And some people didn’t even make eye contact with me and to say the least, it was an awkward situation. After this experiment was over, I explained

In American Culture its commonplace for someone to promise they “won’t tell a soul”,after hearing another person’s secret. This phrase is often uttered when the secret is negative. In cases of child abuse these words may not be uttered, but the child is left with the understanding that the incident isn’t to be discussed. The abuser may threaten to do further harm to the victim, if they tell anyone about what happened. In other instances the child may not want anyone else to know because they feel ashamed about the abuse; guilt, and betrayal are also common emotions experienced by victims of abuse. I know because over the past twenty-six years, I’ve experienced all of them. Although, my need to experience the unconditional

As both of you probably already know I have been a VERY sick man since February of this year and into the hospital 8 times for treatment. During this time my recovery was looking optimistic and I thought that I could work again. With the spirit of trying I did no more than 5 hours work before having to be shipped off to the hospital in an ambulance again. During this time my thought process was clear, turns out it was skewed and I am still unable to work. That being said it has more been a horrifying process to come to terms with being medically disabled and unable to work at 20 years old. During these months of suffering I realize I have caused this company mass suffering with me having to divert tons of my shifts due to being unable to work them.

He walked sluggish up the stairs to go to bed, I ran towards mom to see if she was okay, I saw her face filled with fear and it looks like she wasn’t in this world anymore, like she was off, lost in her conscience. I felt suddenly like I wasn’t home, like I just walked into a different world with parents I didn’t even recognize. I left my mom in her mess of thoughts and ran upstairs a little wary that my dad would pop out. I shut my door silently and just sat on my bed, wondering what happened to Clover and hoping she’ll come back home soon, no wait this is not my home anymore.

The wind whistled through the dark night as I waited for my mom’s car to pull into the school parking lot. Soon, it was just me under the glow of the gym door light. I called my mom. No answer. After dialing his number, my dad’s voice came across my phone saying he would be there in a few minutes. Eventually I was climbing into the truck covered in concrete dust, evidence of my dad’s long day at work.

Then everything was still, Isabella sat up and listened toward the door, ‘Do you hear that?’ She asked. I sat up, moved my hair away from my ear and listened, it sounded as if someone was creeping up the stairs. Then the whispers started. I tried to convince myself that it was just my mother coming home from work, but I didn’t hear her voice announcing that she was home. With every step the whispers grew louder and louder in my head. I counted the footsteps,

“I understand why I have visited you now. I will sacrifice my time when it comes to do so, but just one question Dad. Have I lived a full life?” I say.

Throughout the majority of my teenage years, I have believed in the goodness of man. I have believed that no villainous act is without an honorable intention, no oppressor without oppression, and no slur of curses without a tidal wave of regret. I have believed that through sympathy, I can learn to better understand myself and others. I have believed that my actions can affect others for better or for worse, whether I want them to or not.