Stereotypes: A Narrative Fiction

The danger of a single story is that they let the powerful downgrade the weaker because they create stereotypes, they can hurt the people, and no one gets represented from the culture.

RaStereotyping is a way of thinking about groups of people. It ignores the differences of the group, while emphasizing its similarity. One belief, that is a stereotype, is that red-haired people are hot tempered. Another belief is that Scottish people are stingy. Such thinking ignores many even-tempered redheads and generous Scottish people. Stereotyping emphasizes many differences between groups while ignoring their similarities to other people. It ignores that many blond and brown-haired people also lose their tempers. Stereotyping overlooks the fact that many American, Brazilians and French people are stingy.

Anyway, going back to when we were kids, sometimes Ken would babysit me and Maddie. He was 14 at the time and no one knew then how unstable he was, my parents thought that they could trust him. The first time that he crossed the line we were outside playing. It was a cold day in December, I'll always remember that because I was nervous about the upcoming Christmas pageant at school.

There was an old “CRT” TV, like the type that had littered the shelves of my brother’s pawn shop, hitched up against the corner of the convenience store I had just walked into. Although the image was blurry, I recognized immediately what was showing. I placed the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and walked in, my hands stuffed in the two pockets on either side of the sweatshirt. I cursed the fact that the sweatshirt had the words “Donovan’s Fight Club” in big, decorative cursive letters on the back, embroidered by the lady down the street from the club. I grabbed the milk I had come in for and scooped up a bag of Skittles for Margie. Then I walked up to the counter, pulling out a wad of bills from my back pocket. The attendant, much to my

What if I were to tell you that you that for the rest of your life, you would be unfairly judged, and possibly even discriminated against, based on false perceptions and ideas gathered from influences that only resemble you in the vaguest of ways, most likely being, skin color? And what if no matter how an individual person chooses to carry oneself, they will still commonly be regarded as a member of said misconceptions? Enter, stereotype: “A widely held but fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a particular type of person or thing.”(1)

When we were innocent, and young, the world was our chew toy, and we thought, as we licked our lemon lollies, and played hopscotch and jumped rope, that we could handle anything, because we were oblivious of the lies, that hung like thick sheets of smoke, a veil over the truth, that we call our world. And as we sat in our dining rooms, under crystal chandeliers, with our turkeys and blueberry pies, we didn’t know that, half a world away, lay a starving child, homeless, motherless, and lifeless, and couldn’t afford a single blueberry, much less the whole pie.

It was a very cold and windy night, the wind was so loud it sounded like one of our members from our pack howling. The cold winter was slowly creeping up on us. The sky had never been darker than tonight it was a grey and black mix, kinda like our fur coats that everyone trembled over, but it was faintly streaked with purple. My two brothers, two sisters, and I have been our own pack since our parents died when they went out hunting following the rich smell of sickness and weakness towards town. We hadn’t eaten in days and our prey were finally outsmarting us as much as we hated to admit it and we were slowly starving to death. Usually on the prairie we could find dear or even bunny rabbits that were just waiting to be teared apart from our

It was a hot, Texas summer afternoon. All of the family was sitting together, enjoying each others company. We were watching TV. We joked and laughed with each other. When my grandpa arrives from work, he rushes upstairs to get ready for guitar classes, and says he will be back for dinner. For us, it was a normal Wednesday. Afterward, my grandpa comes down, and sits at the table. He was dressed casually, and is ready to eat. He gets settled and tells me he has something exciting to tell me. We are eating at the table, each of us are enjoying the meal. While we are eating, I notice my grandpa getting in a position as if he were going to say something. He looks at me, along with my mother. He says,"Karmin, would you like to go to guitar classes?"

We have all questioned an idea or belief at least once in our lifetime. If everyone believed what they were told, we would all think Santa is real, swallowing the seed of a watermelon will make one grow in our stomachs, and the tooth fairy was the one to put money under our pillows, not mom and dad. It is our questioning that truly makes us human. Of course, many beliefs that are questioned are not those childhood topics such as old St. Nick or intestinal gardens. The biggest idea I have ever questioned is where I stand politically. Being born into the household I was, and developing the friend group I have, made me think I was just like the rest of them. As I have gotten older, I have learned we are allowed to question those around us, and develop our own ideas and opinions.

“Drink” it ran from the stereo “Drink, significa bebida.” My sister and I had to sit on the couch every day and listen to a painfully perfect repetitive voice teach us English. My sister caught on pretty well with the language but she still had to repeat a grade due to the language barrier. I started off in preschool when we came to Massachusetts, so I had more time to adjust. I grew up shy, after coming from Colombia, but I made friends. My whole life was changing, but I never saw it as a bad change. But slowly I came to realize how Americans, through stereotypes and the media, perceived Hispanics latinos. The Hispanics on TV were usually loud, working minimum wage jobs, and frequently not as bright as the white charming main characters. Gradually

MISCONCEPTION IS BORN OUT OF MISCOMMUNICATION. WHEN STUDENTS GRADUATE THINKING THAT TOMATOES ARE VEGETABLES AND BEING UNSURE ABOUT THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN “DESSERT” AND “DESERT”, YOU’D COME TO BELIEVE THAT THEY HAVE HAD AN UNSUCCESSFUL LEARNING EXPERIENCE. IN SOME WAY, I’D DESCRIBE MY UNSUCCESSFUL LEARNING EXPERIENCE AT SCHOOL AS SUCCESSFUL.

The Society is all the same and isolated.“I can tie them myself she complained and I always have… I don't like hair ribbons. I am glad I only have to wear them one more year.” (Lowry 39). I believe that every girl should not need to wear their hair the same length and style.“Did you know that there were really elephants? Live ones?......”Right she said skeptically. Sure Jonas” (Lowry 95I love Elephants and other “unknown” and “fake” animals that are not known there.“How could you describe a sled without describing a hill and snow; and how could you describe a hill and snow to someone who had never felt height and wind or that feathery, magical cold?” (Lowry 85)Snow and seasons are so fun and beautiful in their own ways and I feel that it would be torture to live without them.

I decided to go for my usual seat in every classroom, all the way in the back, since, from the perspective of a Class A observer, it was the best location to observe people. And stay out of trouble. And doze off during the middle of a boring lecture without the professor noticing. And dozens of other things I can’t think of at the moment. Just know that the back can be your very best friend during the long school year.

The day started off in Bangkok where we felt like millionaires despite only having paid $15 each for our two-bedroom penthouse airbnb with an infinity pool. It was hard to peel away from, but with only three days in the commercial hub of Thailand, we got our asses up and started exploring. The thin coat of mist naturally started to form as we walked down the polluted streets towards the temples. Any girl with big thighs understand the chafe-age struggles in the summer, and despite it being monsoon season in Thailand, ya girl was still struggling. (deodorant in between the thighs usually does the trick). Of course I’d wear shorts, despite my skin creating enough friction to start a damn fire, I’d rather have my legs out, than covered with even

I loathe math. Numbers are extraordinarily dull. They don't have any depth. In high school, math felt irrelevant. When am I going to need logarithms? When am I going to say to myself “I sure am glad that I had to memorize the unit circle, I use that so often”? But as much as I detest numbers, they explain who we are. Numbers can’t lie, so who better to tell us who we are.