It felt like I wasn’t going anywhere or doing anything, the idea of being stuck in one place not moving was like I was trapped in quick sand. The more I struggled the deeper I got, until I could not breathe. My family had tried to send me to school before and I had done fine for a few years. But I started to feel like I was suffocating and anxious there too.
My mother kept breaking down into tears and my father kept comforting her, and I assumed that it was just a result of my behavior and that it wasn’t a big deal. If I’m being completely honest, I didn’t really care what was wrong. I was blinded by nostalgia and I focused more on the people I had just left behind than the people who had been there for me for the entirety of my life right in front of me. The six hour drive home that followed was miserable, as I refused to talk to anyone. My parents made multiple efforts to begin conversation, as they were curious how the program went.
The next question I asked was when did she realize that she was different from the majority of the people in her town who were fully white. She explained how she noticed this when she was confused on which bubble to feel out during standardized tests and also when the racial jokes started to be said to her. However, she always knew she was Puerto Rican because her grandmother who is 100% Puerto Rican would always tell her that she has Puerto Rican blood in her and to be “loud and
The whites show no empathy for anyone but themselves. Even when I was a boy there was discrimination because of my color. I had a secret friend. He was my best friend but whenever I would spend time with him, his parents would tell him they don’t want a “nigger” running around “this house”. We both knew
A population that I do not necessarily understand is the African American community. I grew up in a well-off neighborhood that comprised mostly of elderly white people, so I never really had the opportunity to spend time with African American people. In addition, I went to an almost all-white Catholic school for 15 years so I did not spend time in a diverse atmosphere at school either. Most of the adults in my hometown were extremely racist. These situations posed some real issues for me coming to college because I had only been around white people for 18 years.
I live with a family that never soughed to gain any other knowledge rather than whoever got to them first. In some cases, my family members never had a college graduate until my mother got her degree even in her late 40s. I used to be the person that was in the cave and just followed everyone’s lead until I discovered new music that no one ever heard when I was the age of 15. I was more expressive and thought differently than my peers because of my fascination with fantasy movies, horror movies that my mother allowed me to watch, and my wild imagination due to the video games I played. At a young age I was more fluent in fiction than most of my other classmates and I was able to have adult conversations with my uncles before any of my cousins did.
I grew up in a society riddled with white privilege; I only knew one single person of colour growing up and wasn’t even close enough to remember their last name. I subconsciously reaped all of the 16 skin-colour privileges outlined by Peggy McIntosh in her paper, “White Privilege”, and was never even aware until a couple weeks ago when I learned about them in the introductory module for this course. Due to my upbringing, as mentioned prior, I had almost no experience interacting with people of colour until I began school at Queen’s and as such I didn’t know how to approach my dark-skinned colleague in the workplace. Perhaps it is natural to be cautious in a new scenario, but as I quickly learned they are just like everyone else- my caution was all due to societal portrayal, specifically the association between people of colour, low income, and
Another lie that Ericsson talked about was omission lie. Omission involves telling most of the truth minus one or two key facts whose absence changes the story completely. Sometimes telling an omission can hurt you or hurt the person your telling it too. A couple years ago, I was getting bullied because I was the smallest out of all the people in my class. It went on for months but I never had the courage to speak up about it because, I felt that no one could help me.
I started inflicting physical pain upon myself as a way to distract from the emotional turmoil I had been in for so long-- and it worked. Bringing pain upon myself cause me to not focus so much on what had been going on inside my head for so long, but unfortunately, this had not gone unnoticed. I wore long sleeves year-round so no one would know what I had been doing, but when it is 95 degrees outside and you wear long sleeves, people begin to notice. My mother finally saw the damage I had done and her response was “why did you do
Their rights are being denied as everybody else just because they are different. People once used to enslaved people and abused people who simply had different skin tones; they were not conceived as human under the law. Now as history has shown us, that wasn’t justice. In every civil rights conflict we are only able to recognize the just point of view years after the fact and when the next conflict comes along we are blind once again. (Amanda) As I’m writing down this paper we are repeating history once in for all.
Just as the kitten was forced away form its mother too soon, so too was Yolanda forced to leave her homeland and culture and too young of an age. Yolanda was too young to make such a drastic move which lead to her having difficulties later in life. Her cultural guidelines of how to act were no longer there and eventually when she got a little older she was free to become whoever she wanted. Even she was free to be whoever she chose they would never truly assimilate with the average American. For instance when Yolanda was in boarding school she met a boy name Rudy Elmhurst who she started seeing for quite a while.
It was a normal day for most of the students at stonewall academy, however, Krista McLean was certainly not one of them. A letter had been delivered to her and several other students houses in the weeks prior. It was a letter of the unusual sort, with talk of wizardry, and wands, and owls. Krista had dismissed it as a joke that one of her friends had, as magic didn 't exist, and there certainly wasn 't a school named Hogwarts that would be waiting for several Stonewall students as they arrived on September 1st. But, through an insane turn of events, there she was, stepping off of a scarlet train and looking around.
Throughout elementary school I kept a small group of friends and I never made any new friends with the exception of one kid, Matthew Peterson. There was a lot of kids throughout my grade school career that would come and live in St. Louis for a year or two and then go to live somewhere else. Most of these kids had parents that worked for Companies that would constantly transfer them to work somewhere else so their kids wouldn 't stick around very long. I was never friends with any these kids, until when i was in fourth grade when I met Matthew. He moved to St. Louis from Arizona and was a nice, kind, and very funny kid that was always had a big crooked smile that ran across his face and through his bright red cheeks.
At school, I would sit in class wishing that my father was still alive or that I was still living in Miami. Simultaneously, I let society get into my head making me believe that I was worthless. I was never comfortable in my own skin. Sometimes I would also follow my friends around by not completing my classwork or homework. All these factored in the downfall of my grades.
All of my previous friendships only lasted for a few months or a year at most. Even though I, the naïve, little first grader, did not know it at the time, my friendship with Alana, like all those friendships, would end just as quickly as it began. When I moved away from my home to an unfamiliar, almost alien place, I felt disconsolate and alone, that I would never make friends, until she came along. Alana kept her long brown, golden curls tied up in a ponytail and it always bobbed every time she walked. She looked similar to her mom with her hazel eyes, slightly plump physique, and tanned skin.