Challenges are events that are used to change you for the better should you choose it accept it. The challenges I have faced wasn’t a matter of choice but of something that I have no control over. Some people will tell you it’s a burden, some say it’s an entitlement or free ride. Science says it’s just having a high amount of melatonin due to geographical location for survival. To me though, being black probably one of the biggest challenges a human can have in America at least I find it terribly perplexing. I say this because of what is portrayed in the media, the people I have been raised with, and racism itself in the black community. Keep in mind that this is from my own personal experiences and perspective so everything I say is just applies from my point of
I grew up in a small town in Mississippi in a neighborhood about a five-minute walk from the Mississippi River. I spent the majority of my younger years growing up within this southern bubble. This place that I still call home and my experiences here helped to create the person that I am today. In my neighborhood in Greenville, MS we didn’t have much to do but staying out of trouble was the motive. Even when thinking of the activities to do they were pretty limited but that’s what caused for us to become creative. Kids in my neighborhood took joy in just running, playing sports, working out, or skipping rocks. Besides being born in such a unique place I must give create to the people who have made me who I am.
Every individual attains an innate desire to be something great and to form our mark in the world we live. This desire is displayed in our dreams, our child-like dreams of changing the world and I am no different. When I was little, people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. For six years my response never changed, with my chest puffed out, I would boldly state, “I’m going to be the first black president of the United States!” Then on November 4th, 2008 Barrack Obama stole my dream and was elected the 44th president. It would be a year later that I would meet the man, I was unable to reprimand him for his, what I at the time considered, thievery. Since obliteration of my goal in life, I made a new goal for high school. I would be Freshman Student Council President! However, in response to careful consideration of my popularity level, I quickly reconstructed my goal. I would be Freshman Student Council Vice-President!
African American history is a corrective balance to the single story of American History because it exposes one to another side of history. It erases the concept that whites built America. African American history allows you to know that there is more to America than just what you learn in American History. It is not just white america because African Americans contributed a great deal to the development of america. A student who takes american history will began to believe that whites are the only people who contributed to the development of America. On the other hand, African american history will not only expose the student to a new outlook on history but the contributions of African Americans as well. In “The Danger of a Single Story”,Chimamanda
My master abuses me, and never allows me to be with my children. I desperately need to get away from my master. I plan to soon take my children and run to Canada. Hopefully he does not catch me as I am running away to Upper Canada. I am terrified of my master; I don’t know what he will do to me if I dare disobey him. I have heard stories where if you run away and fail, your master will cut off part of your foot so you can never run away again. If he takes my children away from me I will die. They are still so young they need me. It is almost mid-day; I am still gathering myself to be ready to run away. I have the food I need for my children. I need to grab clothing for my baby, in-case she gets too cold as we are leaving. Now, it is almost night and the sun is down. I am leaving as soon as I can hear my master going to bed and I may have a couple hours
As I went up to John Shine I said "If he dares to shoot, give him a solid volley, boys". He looked around. And he gave me the box of goods, and I knew that when I left he would realize that the “rifle” men were just sticks. And the second I left, I knew that I would have a price on my head.
People tend to romanticize the life of an American Immigrant. They say, “We are going to America, the land of the free, the land of opportunity;” and for most part I do agree, America has given me many great opportunities throughout the years, but opportunity comes at a price.
“I freed a thousand slaves I could have freed a thousand more if only they knew they were slaves”. During my trips back to the south to save my fellow brothers and sister I wasn 't thinking about myself and getting caught I was thinking about how much im impacting their lives. I freed about a Thousand slaves in a decade and I could 've saved even more but the problem was them knowing that they were slaves and there was a better life without masters and people that treat the floor better than they treated you a fellow human.
Justin, Ramon, Victoria, one after another. They all are presenting their exit project on one of the special movement in American History. Three more people and it was my turn. It was hot summer that and I believe that the air conditioner in the room wasn’t working, but who needs an air conditioner anyway? There was an air conditioner already fitted inside me. I felt like It was winter in Russia. All the veins inside my body stopped delivering blood and all the senses inside my head arguing over who should operate the red button. Here, I am sitting down with all my body hair spiked up and not knowing how to feel. One more person to go then it is my turn. I wish I had supernatural power that I could I use take myself inside the earth and give
I’m a white race male. I believe being white I have lived a life in the majority view of this country. I had very little contact with people of color my childhood life. I also believe that I am white privileged so it makes it hard for me to understand all the struggles for minority Americans. I realize that my connection with the majority of America places me in a position of power, I should use to help others. In addition I am concerned about how do I appear to minorities, I don’t want to be viewed as racist. I worry all the time when around minorities that I may say something that could be considered racist out of my ignorance.
In America, there has been many terrible tragedies happening in the past year. From the woman killed in Charlesville for peacefully protesting, to the recent incident that happened in Las Vegas, where over five hundred were wounded. These catastrophic events make you question what this country has come to. It makes you feel hopeless, like there is nothing we can do to make a difference. We can make a change! If we all work together as Americans and spread as much love as we can, we can conquer all hate.
Andy was one of the few Black students attending my elementary school and I was drawn to him because of his incredible storytelling ability. I love to hear stories and he loved to tell them in an animated manner with all the appropriate expressions, changing his voice with each character and flailing his arms to show action. His gift for storytelling began to draw the attention of other classmates who were riveted to his every word. Hunched over and crowded around Andy at recess, all our eyes watched his every movement. His wrinkled, baggy khaki pants looked out of place with his carefully ironed shirt.
My high school in suburbia, despite its efforts through METCO, a program which busses inner-city kids to schools like Lincoln-Sudbury, is not very diverse. So, when a volatile Black Lives Matter protest broke out in the hallway, it took me by surprise. An affluent, primarily white high school is not often forced to confront racial issues. A group of students, both black and white, gathered next to our cafeteria carrying signs and chanting various, now nationally famous, slogans. As I walked by the ensemble, I was shocked at the various insults being thrown back and forth between protesters and passersby. As the words got more hostile, I was caught in a battlefield of spit.
On August 30th from 5:00pm to 7:00 pm, I attended the Black Student Association annual cookout for new members. I expected for there just to be a few people, like maybe twenty students, since blacks only make up 2-3% of the student population. Also I thought there would be just black people there, and nasty central food. I wanted there to be games, ice breakers and ways for people to get know each other. I assumed there would be many administration overseeing us. I was thinking it would be like a regular backyard cookout, with the music and the dancing. Basically I thought I was going to be attending stereotypical black cookout.