Personal Narrative: My First Racist

In the past I have struggled with my biracial identity. As a child I was confused about which community I belonged in because I am a mix of Navajo and Caucasian. As I got older, I began to question myself and who I was. I felt like I did not belong to either the Native or Caucasian community because in both groups I felt like someone else. I felt as if I had to live two lives that were completely separated. When I was on my reservation I felt like I had to act “Navajo” and when I was not on the reservation I had to try to blend in and not act “too native” . This situation was stressful because I was internally battling with myself. I did not want to make others uncomfortable by being “too native” or “too white” so I would change how I acted

I am not mixed with any other race. I am all African- American. My mother, Donna Kent, is 46 years old. My mother is the second eldest of three. Donna was born on October 1st. My mother works downtown at a law firm for 24 years. She also works at the Science Center on the weekends. She graduated from South High School. My mom did not know exactly what she wanted to do after school, but once she found an office job, she loved it! My mother works 7 days a week; she is a very hard working woman. My mother has a hearing loss trait from her dad, also my Aunt Tracy does too. Tracy is 47 and she has 5 children. Tracy loves to cook food, and sell them on the weekends. During the summer time, my cousin Precious (Tracy’s only daughter) and I would walk around and pass out flyers for her food sale. We even helped out in the kitchen from time to time.

Who am I? That is the main question I ask myself every day. Am I a racist? Am I a worthless Jews killer? Or rather a smug idiot? A failed criminal? Actually I don’t know who I am. I still hate Jews. But I was so wrong to kill them in my past. The real reason that I hate Jews is because I grew up with it (the concept of hating Jews). My family thought me to hate them. Maybe if I grew up in another family, I would be a different person. I wouldn’t be a member of the Ku Klux Klan and I wouldn’t have taken anyone’s live.

It was a hot humid day on the 5th of may. There I was, sitting on the beautiful light green porch by the park on this hot sunny day. Watching the birds fly over my head, Chirping the beautiful tunes they usually make and the kids chasing after the ice cream truck down 35th street. Watching the kids play basketball, hoping that one of them would let me in the game and play with them. But it never occurred to me that they wouldn 't let me in was because I was too skinny. Same went with me trying to join a game of football with the big boys they would just say no. I starting wondering why they wouldn 't let me in was it because I was too small and skinny or was it because they didn

My economic situation and racial identity intersect every minute of my life. Both were appointed to me upon birth, one I’m proud of, and one I will change eventually. Overall I feel these two identities had silent my voice in the sense that they are times I feel uncomfortable and scared to share my opinion in fear of judgment and perception on others. I feel that it’s easier for people to judge if you’re at the lower end of the latter, it gives them a sense of superiority that makes them comfortable to attack you. And it’s different if you are Latino and economically stable or white, society since to attack minorities or those less fortunate. Although I can conclude the society has a profound impact on my personality as a person and how I

She woke up in a soft, flannel cot. Her digital alarm clock droned on and on, but she didn’t hear it; she didn’t care. She slammed it to stop buzzing and hopped out of bed. Pressing her hand against her window, she looked out to see a snowy winter day. Frost caked her neighbor’s roofs. She quickly threw some jeans and a fluorescent long sleeve. She snatched all her papers and threw them into her binder and grabbed her bag. She hastily brushed her teeth and walked over to her brother’s room.

I shrink down in my seat, face burning. How in the world was I so out of it that I had no idea what class I was in? Mr. Suttles, smug from embarrassing me, turns around and returns to the front of the room. Almost forgetting about whatever was in the grass outside, I begin to actually pay attention to the lesson.

In the fifth grade, I had a wonderful teacher who cared for all her students no matter of race, gender, nation, political identity, or interests. When she taught controversial topics, she taught well knowing that some students may be offended and tried her best to make the insulted being feel better. After the third month of school, she was diagnosed with breast cancer and had to miss the next 4 months of the year. During that time, a substitute came in to fill her place in the classroom’s society. This new teacher did not care for all her students. She cared only for non-asian students. This new teacher would try her hardest to dock a few points off our tests and assignments, were handed punishments more frequently, yelled at constantly, told us that our blood was filthy, and called us names in class. She would accuse us and our parents of

I am a white ally. People say that it’s a bad thing, but how is supporting a cause bad? That is exactly what I was thinking when I went to my very first sit-in. I had attended many meetings about what our next move will be, but I’ve never actually done something, only because of the fear of what would happen to me and my family. I’ve finally mustered up enough courage to attend to one.

The next morning could 've gone better in retrospect. I woke up to an alarm ringing feverishly in my ear. When I sluggishly smacked it, rather than it successfully turning off, it fell of my desk, hit the floor, and continued ringing, just as loud, if not louder. I looked to the ceiling in disdain. Following the rude awakening was the realization I would have to go to school. On my birthday. I was now fifteen. If I were a latina woman, this would mark my transition into womanhood, and we would have a big party to celebrate. Unfortunately, I was not. Unfortunately, I was a pudgy, white teenager in America, who might get a cake.

I took a deep breath as I heard the alarm go off. I groaned and opened my eyes, absentmindedly stared at the clock on my bedside table that said Mon, 07:00 am. It took me a while to snap out and I lazily stretched my whole body before sitting up and brood over once more. I thought to myself, summer was not that bad.

“Bang!” The gun fires off, and the race starts at that instant. As I spring from my starting position I look in the corner of my eye, to see another runner leading the pack. I concentrated all of my energy into the race, my legs burning from the intensity, however, it was not enough for me to clench the sweet taste of victory. I turned up at the finish line with 2nd place. It was my first race of my career, and I did not know what to expect. I sat down in the field, mad at myself for losing. Thoughts of quitting altogether crossed my mind. However, I kept pushing onwards, and over the course of the season I got progressively better with my skills and my attitude.

I’m a boy born in Los Angeles, California but grew up in a place with a population of 148,483 and is about 128.4 million square miles. I technically say I’m from Kansas City, the dot, the one and only true royal’s fans city. I spent more than half my life living in this city, and its been amazing, yet wild, and quite sad at moments. I live a suburban community and I’ve witnessed so many innocent lives be headed to the wrong directions due to drugs, money, alcohol, theft, and even suicide. I have been offered to sell, and even try drugs at one point in life, and it is a serious issue, I isolate myself from the people that burdens to my goals. Honestly, my older brother and my parents have influenced me to be someone with potential. I’ve lost

At the race track it smelled so great they had popcorn.Hotdogs and nachos but the best thing was before he broke his leg the first 2 races he came in 1st. He lost the last one because he broke his leg.There was a kid he was 18 years old and I lived in Ohio his name was smit He raced dirt bikes at Lawrenceburg Speedway. He wrecked his dirtbike and he had to go to the Hospital. When he wrecked he had the bone sticking out of his leg and had to be rushed to the hospital. They did surgery he to have 9 bolts and 1 plate in his leg. They had to do theripy on him but after that he was never the same again he could baraly walk.he had to do theripy the rest of his life or he would not be able to walk at all.like 5 years later he was under so much

Have you ever experienced a moment of epiphany? A moment where you basically understood something, but for once you see it in a different light. That has happened to me before in eighth grade. It was almost the last few weeks of school of the year and the whole student body was having a rough time with school. With the smell of spring in the air and the realization that summer was right around the corner, I don’t know who would not struggle to keep their head in the game. Like the rest of the crowd, I stopped turning in my homework in social studies. I had never gotten an F in a class before, so when I checked my grades that night I had a panic attack. I guess I knew if I didn’t turn in my homework, I might flunk, but that had never happened