Sink Of The Bathroom At Sears: Poem Analysis

I am no immigrant. I have been living in this country ever since I was born. My brother, sister, and I are all first generation citizens. Both of my parents were born in Mexico, and at an early age came to the United States. They are now living happily in the U.S as citizens. Growing up I only spoke one language, Spanish. Being Mexican this was the only way I could communicate up until kindergarten. Although it was such a long time ago, I remember how hard it was for me to adjust. I know I had a strong accent, and I was sometimes ashamed of it. On occasion I remember accidentally speaking Spanish to my classmates. “Did you finish your homework?" “Si, todo esta-”. “I mean, yeah, all done.” I often got these confused looks on their face whenever this happened. The next year in first grade I became accustomed to English. I no longer spoke spanish to my parents. When the realization that I could no longer speak Spanish hit my parents, they were shocked. Personally I was also disappointed. Especially today, in a school with a general population of Hispanics I would love to be able to converse with them. I often get people asking if I speak Spanish and I tell them why I can’t, but can understand what the words mean. All because I did not want to look different in a school where people were primarily white back then. I don’t recall many people of my race at this school at all.

I was late for school, and my father had to walk me in to class so that my teacher would know the reason for my tardiness. My dad opened the door to my classroom, and there was a hush of silence. Everyone's eyes were fixed on my father and me. He told the teacher why I was late, gave me a kiss goodbye and left for work. As I sat down at my seat, all of my so-called friends called me names and teased me. The students teased me not because I was late, but because my father was black. They were too young to understand. All of this time, they thought that I was white, because I had fare skin like them, therefore I had to be white. Growing up having a white mother and a black father was tough. To

Throughout my years in my white neighborhood I grew up as an equal among my classmates. My peers had never teased me; in fact, the incident with those older boys was the only act of prejudice I have ever experienced. Classmates were very tolerant, and so was I. Forced by circumstance, I accepted living among all white people and they with me. They became familiar with the only Asian girl in the school, and the racial issue disappeared. I had friends and my ethnic background was not a problem. They saw my personality and saw me. I was an American.

Growing up in a Latino household is hard. My parents only spoke Spanish therefore my first language was Spanish. For the first few years of my life this was not really a problem, I enjoyed life as any normal little girl would. I got to talk to all of my cousins and all of the neighbor’s children. It wasn’t until I got to school that it became real that I was going to learn English. Don’t get me wrong I always knew I had to learn English my parents always talked to me about school and helped me as much as they could. It was also around this same time where I started to understand that it was not only hard for me it was hard for them as well. My parents had to live in this country not knowing the main language spoken.

When I was young I didn’t really realize the impact of being African-American until high school. I went to a predominately white school for elementary and middle school. I was just like any other youth. I had my group of friends who were white; I was active in school activities and clubs. I was a student athlete and I got along well with my teachers. Everyone saw me as an upbeat person with a bubbly personality. Surprisingly, race was never brought up it wasn’t an issue for me during that period of my life. However, as I got older I realize there was a difference. As an adult I could really see the prejudice in others. I recall working a on a special project for the

I always identified myself as Mexican because technically I was mostly Mexican, but I didn’t speak Spanish and was never really accepted by my Spanish speaking peers. I also remember not wanting to be identified as White, I was an American but I didn’t want to be called White. I idolized Martin Luther King Jr. as a young child, and I remember feeling deeply moved and fundamentally changed after seeing the first images of the civil rights movement during Black history month. Then I remember starting to wonder why I always saw the same videos and learned the same lessons each year during February and I began to question things. I remember getting so angry at my own ignorance of the history of racism in this country during my first multi-cultural history class at Cal State Long Beach. I realized how much I wasn’t learning in school and that I never got an authentic version of history from any group other than the dominant White culture. It was an eye opening experience and it had a profound impact on me. I learned to embrace being an American as long as I was willing to commit to continuously questioning and challenging the current power structures in place and work to expose the institutionalized racism that continues to plague our public

My parents both came to this country at a very young age. My father was 16 when he first moved to the U.S. and my mother years later moved when she was 19. I am a child of immigrants and it was hard growing up. I consider myself a Mexican American or Chicana. I grew up in the suburbs of Los Angeles and later moved to Las Vegas. As I asked my father what he had to deal when he first moved he said “people would discriminate me just because I couldn’t speak well English and because of my brown skin”. “I was only 16 and wanted to live the American dream, but it was more like hell in America”. A lot of people are discriminated every day just because they aren’t Caucasian/white Americans, but they’re still American they live here and have a living here.

Let 's start from the beginning, I was a high school freshman who had been around the same people my whole life. Some might call it out of the norm for someone of my skin color. Although it was a public school in the suburbs of Houston it was infamous of being the “white school.” The school had just opened and there were only sophomores

Growing up the child of an immigrant has given me a unique perspective on life that a majority of kids my age will never have. In my home, I am surrounded by the Ethiopian culture and language, but when I step across the threshold, I am greeted by a culture foreign to my own. I was challenged with learning two more languages than most kids, Amharic and Tigrinya, which classified me as a student who needed ESL (English Second Language) classes. My mom always said, “Ewedeshalo yenekonjo”, meaning I love you, my beautiful. I was immersed in two different communities, and had the impression of living in two different countries. I was faced with the difficulty of not knowing where I fit in since I am one of a few kids who have this reality. Balancing

My dad always told me to never treat people how you want to be treated. He told me that because one day at his work one of his coworkers which was white came up to him and told him why he was working there. He told him how he barely knew english and he shouldn’t be working there. That my dad was working at a shitty job and he should go find another one. My dad simply told him “if you think I don’t have a life because Im working at a shitty job then what do you think of yourself? I don’t know english but you do and your working at the same job I am so whos the real loser here.” That gave me a way different perspective on how some people saw us. Not only did they see us as miniorties but it seemed as if they never wanted to see them as one of them. It made me think if miniorites wanted to assimulate in this country or did the people in this country not want us to assimulate.

I was born in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, and live in the U.S. I went to Lowell High School and took all ESL because I didn’t know much about English. In order to succeed, I started to read and speak more English than my first language, yet I speak Khmer at home because my parent doesn 't want me to lose my native language. In America, there are a lot of immigrants that are trying to come and to get a better opportunity. According to Joel Swerdlow, in “Changing America,” “before 1965 more than three-quarters of all immigrants to the U.S. came from Europe, owing largely to quotas that favored northern Europeans.” (313). In 1965 Congress removed those quotas, and since then more than 60 percent of immigrants have come from Asia, Africa, the Caribbean, the Middle East, and Latin America. However, do children of immigrants often feel they must lose their cultural identity in order to be American? Children of immigrants often feel they must lose their cultural identity because they are changing their own culture identity regarding three topics: Language, Dress, and Behavior.

However, I have not always been confident in my own skin, being as my appearance clearly shows I am hispanic. My tan skin, slight accent, dark hair and eyes, shows my hispanic being on my outside. Last year, in my eleventh grade year is when I was the least confident in myself. I have always brushed off the gardener and maid jokes, but this experience impacted me. Last year when I was walking in the hall, a random boy I did not know handed me a folded up sheet of paper. When I opened it, it had the bolded, upcased letters spelling out “Trump.” At the time I took it hard. I did not know what it meant. Was it some silly prank? Was the boy telling me I was gonna get deported? My parents and I are here legally, but it still shook my character and confidence in myself and culture. For a week I felt down, there was even a family gathering that weekend, and I told myself that I did not want to go, so I sat in my room the whole time. But then I realized that this is who I am. I am cuban. I am proud of who I am and no one should be able to take that away from me. My hispanic background is not something I can hide, so I have learned to not only accept it, but to embrace it. Even though this experience made me less confident in myself then, it made me learn to love my culture so much more now. I feel as if my

My father is Mexican, and my mother is White. I was born in California, however, when was 4 yrs. old we moved to Mexico. We did not returned to the United States till I turned 15 yrs. old. Although my first language was English, once I moved to Mexico, I became fluent in Spanish. Life coming back to America was hard, I did understand English perfectly since my mother always spoke to us in English, however, and I could no longer speak it. I was placed in ELL classes, and although I was very smart in many subjects, because I did not speak English, I was placed in easy classes, where we did nothing. They focus so much on learning the language that they fail to teach you. I survived; however, I knew the other classmates looked down at us. They would not speak to us, and they will make rude racial comments when referring to any of us.

During elementary school I decided I wanted to move in with my father who did attend church religiously every Sunday morning. Catholic mass was awful and difficult to understand. My father put my brothers and I through communion and made us participate in church bible study to further understand the religion. As I got older my views on Catholicism had gotten worse, I started hating going to church. When the nuns called my age group to have children’s church my father forced me to go, they took us to a room that had no windows and was always cold. The nuns made us read the old testament in the King James Bible version and I always had a hard time reading and understanding it because of the way it was written. This experience made me hate and

I’m native American someone who is indigenous to north America. I came to this identity at young age because both my parent practice our traditional ways and culture beliefs. My identity to me is very important because it plays profound impact for shaping me. It native cultural we do a lot of ceremony’s and I took part in at young age. To Native people our traditions is very sacred thing to us and I’ve always felt that way. I remember witnessing a ceremony around 7 or 8, we went south Dakota to attend sun dance. It ceremony where you don’t eat or drink for four days and you offer of your flesh by tying rope to a tree and you piece little wood stakes on each side of your chest and you lean back until the stakes are rip out of your chest. After that you do your back by dragging 7 buffalo skulls across the ground until they rip out of skin. Seeing never bother to me but it was very powerful thing to see and I think that when I started to get into my heritage. After that I learn how to dance, sing traditional songs and learn from elder on how to make native flutes. They’re was powerful experience I had in 8th grade that to me made taught me prejudice can happen from any color person and I think that when society taught me who I am. I was harassed by Latino kid in class and I did something to piss him off and his response was “go back to your home land” I was furious to hear this so I punch him in face. After 8th grade I left Sonoma county and went to boarding school for only