Personal Narrative: Who Am I A Racist?

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’s too much. The first years, I thought I was going to survive this terrible prison life. But I am NOT surviving! My hope is gone. Everything went wrong the last week. I had hope that Sam would get me out of here. I was almost convinced. But he didn’t. And I can’t blame him; he was so confident that it would all turn out well. The thing I regret the most, is never to be able to really get to know Adam. According to me, he seems a precious young man with all the opportunities he needs to survive this hard world. I call it a hard world, but know I realize that I’m not the one to complain. I killed people. I took lives. If I could return time, the trigger would never have ignited the bomb. But it’s too late. I’m a real bastard.

And it hurts so much. I could cry a river, but I won’t. I have to stay strong for myself and for Adam. I hoped that Lee would come to visit me, but I understand why she didn’t. She thinks I’m a disappointment. She’s right. I hope Lee will live in piece and in love for the rest of her life. Just a half hour. I don’t know what I’m feeling. Hope? Pain? No. I think I’m relieved. Relieved that everything is over, I just can’t do this anymore. My only concern is now that the people I’ve hurt, the Kramers, Lee, my son, Quince Lincoln and Adam will be able to forgive