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 …show more content…
That poor girl went flying down the ground, hard. And then I pinned her. The clerk let out a low whistle, his head shaking in awe. “You’d expect that girl to be a little happier that she won, don’t you think?” the store clerk asked. He had finished off the last of the potato chips and tossed the bag into the garbage. “I mean, she just won her first title, but there’s no smile, no elation—no nothing. If you ask me, I think that’s the sign of a champion. She knew she was going to win from the moment she stepped into the ring.” I felt myself take a shallow breath. I wanted to tell him that that girl didn’t know she was going to win from the moment she stepped into the ring. I wanted to tell him that the lack of elation at winning wasn’t because she was being stoic; on the contrary, she hadn’t felt there was anything to be elated about. But it had been a compliment, hadn’t it? This man watching me even though he apparently had never seen a woman’s MMA match before. Still, even if he hadn’t realized it was me who had just savagely thrown my fist into that girl’s right cheek, knocking out one of her teeth and giving her a concussion that I heard she was still suffering symptoms from, it didn't feel like a …show more content…
I wanted to go up to the counter and tell him to keep trying—that size didn’t matter—but at that time, it seemed to me as though maybe size did matter. And why would some poor man listen to some little punk-ass girl anyway? But as soon as the man was gone, my brother turned around with a smile and threw the gloves to me, which I caught with some difficulty, because they were heavier than I was expecting. “Here you go, Annie,” he said, the grin he and I both shared plastered on his broad face. “Just what you wanted.” I didn’t wear these gloves when I competed, of course. Stereotypical red boxing gloves weren’t fit for the MMA ring. I didn’t even wear them when I was training with Donny. I only wore them when I was training all by myself, hidden away in my corner, a reminder that size doesn’t matter. Today was like any one of those solo sessions at the gym. I was at my punching bag away from everyone and everything, listening to my brother’s angry music, feeling angry, even though, like usual, I wasn’t sure why I felt angry. We don’t need to justify anger, Anna-Maria. That’s what Mom always said. We don’t have to justify anything we
The single story is about how a people stereotypes one another based on what they learned through books, media, people, and other sources. For example, Chimamnda announced how she viewed Mexicans as immigrants and them trying to get through the borders, but the moment she stepped foot into Mexico the perspective she got from other sources changed everything. She was ashamed of herself because when she visit the view was completely different because what she saw was happiness, love, and fun. The single story is an image that is created based upon information that was given, but not on your own perspective. In other words, it is the truth to the reality. For example, when people hear of Niagara everyone think of land, poor, Africa, homeless,
My brother is gigantic he is 6’6” and 250 solid muscle and to see him so angry had me shaking in my boots. As I saw him standing there like a truck he was staring at me and just I couldn’t tell what he was thinking but all I could tell is that he was going to try to kill me.
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.
Frankland does a stellar job walking the thin line of representing both fighters in a positive light and still making sure the audience has all the details needed. The whole fight is seemingly summarized with one beautifully written line, “Ronda Rousey was the UFC's unstoppable force until Holly Holm used the former champion's aggression against her” (Frankland). This line is so influential because Frankland captures both fighter’s styles and the way they executed them throughout the fight. While Martin’s article downplayed the level of skill of Rousey, this line also shows that she dominated the UFC until facing Holm. Contrary to Martin, Frankland interviews both fighters and their trainers. What some might leave out attendance, considering it not a major part of the story ESPN’s news anchor did a great job of capturing the significance of the event by saying “the first UFC event ever held in Melbourne, drew 56,214 fans and broke the promotions previous attendance record of 55,724”( Okamoto). While some fans might still be opposed to females fighting in the UFC, record breaking attendance from a card with a female main event boldly shows that these sexist views are a thing of the past. Okamoto also paints beautiful imagery of the fight itself with vivid details such as “Rousey’s
“Elders, this is a scan of Katherine Ayla Regan’s brain when she arrived here yesterday. I’d like you to note the unusual activity in the parietal lobe. She tapped the screen, and the parietal lobe became greater. Kat looked at the screen confused. A weird pink light was pulsing across the lobe.
Joan handed him a small hand mirror. “It’s better, and you’ll be able to breathe through it, but I’m sorry to say it’ll never sit perfectly straight again. But how many men can brag they’ve been punched in the face by a king and lived to talk about it?”
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.
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.
The past was best left in the past. Forgotten and ignored, buried in oblivion, and omitted from the present. That’s how one survives. That’s how one gets from day to day without breaking down in a puddle of mush. It didn’t work to face the problem, to confront it head on with the conception that you could overcome. That was just a fantasy, like fairy tale stories it was unrealistic. I learned the way to survive is by stuffing the invasion of feelings that surface when the bloodcurdling past threatens to suffocate you. If PHDs were awarded for perfecting this talent I would be first on the list to receive one. At least I thought so, at least up until this point it was my greatest ally and friend. But looking into the mirror now trying to focus
Evander Holyfield didn’t need a fourth round, or an inspired career-best performance, to take your title away. You never tried competing. When he put you on your back with a counter right, you sat on the canvas, using your gloves to paw your facial features, doing a check to see if you were bleeding and not making even the slightest effort to get back up. You continued to check when Mills Lane, who was refereeing the bout, completed the ten-count. “I’m not sure whether the Holyfield counter right was hard enough for leaving him unable to get back on his feet,” Lane said not long afterwards. “It sure wasn’t the overhand right Earnie Shavers iced Larry Holmes with back in 1979, though. I thought he might try harder to get up, considering how hard he had worked for becoming the world heavyweight
In this qualitative study I use narrative inquiry to learn about the stories of school leaders working towards ensuring that all students have the opportunities to succeed. I have situated my inquiry at the borderlands of narrative inquiry and critical race theory. This study looks to merge the valuing of the individual life (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000; Connelly & Clandinin, 1990) with the theoretical lens of critical race theory (Crenshaw et al., 1995; Delgado & Stefancic, 2012; Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995). Whereas Clandinin and Rosiek (2007) recognize the existence of tension(s) between these two research methodologies, they nevertheless reaffirm that narrative inquiry “traverses borderlands.” In short, this paper desires to enrich the
Ironically, even though my generation tends to be more liberal that certainly has not been the case for my friends. Specifically, my male friends tend to fit every “redneck” stereotype and are hard core republicans. Coming from a small school, I was stuck with them regardless of if I liked it a lot. Surprising, I grew to love it and look it as another opportunity. I tend to be very outspoken with people I feel comfortable around. Because of this my friends are sure to know where I stand on issues. Being the only direct and vocal democrat in our friend group set me for endless debates, name-calling, and even an occasional agreement. The debates I had with my friend were often long and aggressive, especially when I tend to be the lone wolf in
During my younger years. I was an introvert. Well I’m still an introvert now, but at least I’m able to talk to people. Back then, I would be what you called a four eyes nerd, and books were my friends and usually got bullied. Or at least until I met Son.
This week’s readings were not completely surprising as I’ve always been well aware of the stereotypes that most races face. Being a female Hispanic, I have experienced some of these behaviors both at work and out in society. I worked at places that valued men more than women, and at places where I was the only minority in the office. Being in HR, I want to be able to make positive changes in reversing discriminatory behavior and valuing everyone the same. It has often been a challenge to get management on board, which we know from our discussion this week how important this is for a diverse environment to work.
One and a half week ago, I got back to my room and I started to watched a movie until 23 o'clock then I went to my bed for sleep