Alabama Trip My mom and and dad told me in December that we were going to Gulf Shores, Alabama to visit my grandparents. Gulf Shores is the southernmost town in Alabama, located on the north coast of the Gulf of Mexico. I have been there twice when I was little. I remember that I collected seashells and went swimming with Boppa in the pool.
When I moved to the small town of Luther, Oklahoma I didn 't talk much. I was shy and had trouble making friends. I couldn 't care less about my schoolwork, even though my teachers thought I was very bright. I wasn 't interested in sports. At my old school I was active in Girl Scouts, but I lost interest in that a year or two after moving.
I was born in New Orleans, but raised in Brooklyn. For several reasons my parents decided to leave NOLA shorty after my birth. From then on, I was raised in New York state; more specifically Brooklyn. It wasn't until the age of sixteen that I finally returned to my home city. My parents had just divorced and for that reason, my mother no longer wished to stay in New York.
I live in a minuscule town in Western North Carolina, where southern traditions are very important to the majority of the population. Such as drinking sweet tea, eating biscuits and gravy, and going to church. Here within one of those important traditions lies why I had to take such a significant risk. At the beginning of my eighth grade year of middle school, only a mere thirteen years of age, I knew I was different. However, what made me different would surely turn many against me.
The community I grew up in central Texas celebrated my heritage, honored differences in culture, and fostered personal growth and self-discovery. My parents, with the strong work ethic they developed on their family’s farms in Ghana, encouraged my brother and me to work hard and find ways to use our skills to be of service to others, which wasn’t hard to do growing up in Austin with its many avenues to become involved and take care of the community, whether it was helping to direct families through the Trail of Lights at Zilker Park during the winter or raise money for educational programs for underprivileged kids in the area through working the concession stands at the University of Texas at Austin. It was this collaborative mindset that Austin
Growing up in southwest Atlanta, Georgia, I have been surrounded by ‘black success’ instead of just ‘success’ for the duration of my life. The blacks in my area are equally as successful, if not more accomplished than, the non-blacks, but we are always titled separately and put into a captive box. The box we are held in told young girls that they should aspire to be athletes, cosmetologists, or plain unemployed. The same box told young men that they could only be considered “somebody” if they were able to catch a ball well. These are occupations we would ‘best be suited for’; these are occupations that perpetuate the box.
Personal Narrative Have You ever wanted to know what South Carolina is like? Well, Im going to tell you how it is down their. I was only 5 or 6 when i moved down there and we used live in dayton OH, but it took us about a week to decide if we wanted to move and pack up everything. At the time we had 3 dogs Trooper, Oatie, and Patches. I wanted oatie to go with us
My mother was my number one supporter then, and still is now. She is always by my side, and there for me. My pawpa is another important family member; he will be there for me, and come get me from across the states if I asked him too. He gives me sound advice, and guides me. I would say the event that impacted my life the most would be having cancer at such an early age.
Growing up my parents instilled in me that I was beautiful and my skin was beautiful. It was clear to me that everyone else didn’t feel the same way. I went to a couple different schools throughout my life starting with a predominantly black school then a predominantly white school then a very diverse school and at each one I still experienced colorism. At the black school I was not liked because I was darkskin and my hair was kinky and I was just not as pretty as the light skinned girls.
The supply, a middle-aged male whom of which stood about six foot tall- who I vaguely recognised by sight but not by name; rambled on continuously about the Civil War that left our once great country teetering on the edge of complete obliteration. I had zoned out- like I usually did whenever classes took a swift boring turn, and my perfectly located desk- directly placed next to an arched glass window; allowed me the perfect opportunity for a brief escape from reality.
Growing up was a nightmare. Reason being, my parents divorced when I was in the fourth grade and I had to live with whoever would have me. I was shuffled from Aunt to Aunt until I graduated high school.
The negative treatment and pain I received as a black girl, and still into my adulthood, it amazes me how I'm still standing tall and strong. It amazes me how people have tried to break me, even my own kind, but I'm still here. Truth is I gotta to have thick skin and protect myself, because I got no choice. If I don't... who will? And that is the everyday life of living as a black woman.
My parents were still together, me and my twin sister got along, we had a house and food on our table but in an instant that can all change. I can still remember the exact moment my parents decided they were splitting up. I was in grade 7, and as anyone can say grade 7 is one of the hardest grades to be in and in that moment it got even harder. All of a sudden that change made my life go into a downwards spiral. My mom, my sister and I moved into a small house and my dad moved in with another women.
One day in July, my Aunt Beeh asked me and my sister Tiffany if we could pick up her daughters’ from their dads’ house in Atlanta. We both knew that our mom wouldn’t have a problem with us taking a day trip to Atlanta. However we knew our dad would say no. Our mom just told us “Just tell him you’re going halfway to pick them up.” And that’s exactly what we did.
By the end of a depressing cold January, I asked Nonno to drive me to the New Haven train station to inquire about a train schedule to Augusta, Georgia. I made my case why I wanted to leave, and he understood. When Mamma found out, she reacted rather hysterically; called it a crazy notion, and me a stubborn German. Nonno very quietly became my ally and suggested to wait until Frank came home from college for winter break, and he could take Patrizia and me to Georgia. Nonno offered to provide his reliable Chevy Bel Air for the long trip.
