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Success barriers essay
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I never would have considered myself a typical minority when it came to my racial identity. I know what it takes to be successful, I play the oboe, and even though I come from a not so typical family background, that has never stopped me from continuing to strive in everything I put myself into. My mother and father came from a poor background but were able to overcome this poverty to make a better life for their children and themselves. They both lived in the projects and were not expected to graduate high school let alone attend college. Because of this, my parents have always talked to me how important an education is and I want to continue learning every single day. They have always encouraged me to do the things that I love to do, in
Minorities, African American and Latinos, in America are faced with challenges daily in white society. There are many obstacles minorities experience such as: being judged based on race, stereotyped, or worst being discriminated against by peers. Sadly, minorities can’t seem to escape to harsh realities society created. Citizens in the white society categorize humans by their race to socially construct the achievements and legitimate political goals. Minorities struggles with these goals due to the challenges they experience. The location of these challenges can occur in various places including on the job and/or at school. You may be under the impression that such challenges occurs within the adult minority groups. However, this applies to minority children as well. When the children are face with
I am an African, black female who grew up in a predominantly white environment around my living space, and attended a predominantly white private school. In relation to class, I have been fortunate and privileged enough to be placed in a living environment that allowed me to receive the best education,
While I never knew my father, I did grow to know the challenges faced by African Americans. I first began to feel different when I transferred from public to private middle school. People began asking about my ethnicity for the first time in my life. Until this time, it had never seemed important. Although I had never been overly fond of my curly hair, it, along with other traits deemed too 'ethnic' looking, now became a source of shame. I had a few not so affectionate nicknames because of those curls. I was shocked to realize that people considered me different or less desirable because of these physical traits. Being turned away from an open house in my twenties was just as shocking as being ...
I wanted to wear brand clothes/shoes they did, I wanted to do my hair like them, and make good grades like them. I wanted to fit in. My cultural identify took a back seat. But it was not long before I felt black and white did not mix. I must have heard too many comments asking to speak Haitian or I do not look Haitian, but more than that, I am black, so I always had to answer question about my hair or why my nose is big, and that I talked white. This feeling carried on to high school because the questions never went away and the distance between me and them grew larger. There was not much action my family could take for those moments in my life, but shared their encounters or conversations to show me I was not alone in dealing with people of other background. I surrounded myself with less white people and more people of color and today, not much has
Identity-“Ones personal qualities.”Identiy is something only he or she can fully define. My uncle says I am affectionate,cheerful, and calm. My grandmother sees me as slim, pretty and sweet. My dad described me as perky, cheerful and happy, my mom says beautiful, gentle, and self-conscious. These adjectives describe me accurately, yet they are only abstract versions of me. Adjectives cannot begin to describe me and I aknowlege these descriptions for what they are, a condensed translation from my outward self to the world. It is impossible for anyone to understand me completely because nobody has experienced the things I have. My mother has never cherished a raggedy doll named Katie and my father never spent hours upon hours making collages and scrap books for his future children. My uncle never hid in the back of a pick-up-truck and traveled four hours to New York and my grandmother has never walked hours in the rain looking for the Queen of England. My identity is something only I can define.
My family is very different and has different views than most average American families. My family and I moved to the United States from Albania when I was the mere age of two. My parents didn’t speak any English when we landed in America. However, they strived for a better living situation for my brother and I, which I am thankful for every day. My parents didn’t expect me to do well in school and attend college so, they didn’t bother to take me to music classes or dance classes like other moms would do with their children. I would always be the child that didn’t fit in which in away forced me to do well in school. On the other hand I think my parents held me back from the opportunities I could’ve had. If they were to put me in piano classes
Growing up in a lower middle class immigrant family, where neither one of my parents finished high school, it did not take long for me to realize that I was different and that I would have to work much harder than the rest of my friends who came from wealthy and educated families to reach the same goal. I learned at a very young age that things will never be simply handed to me; if I want something done, then I need to work with great determination in order to reach my goal. By furthering my education, I now know that working hard to reach my goal was not going to be enough but now being judged on the color of my skin and my background that I needed to work harder to add items to my resume which would help people overlook
Growing up as a first generation Chinese-American, I felt as if I was stranded in the void between two worlds, isolated and alone. At school, I hid my Chinese self and tried to be more ‘American’ in order to fit in. At home, I then carefully tucked away my American half and acted the dutiful Chinese son to please my parents. If Chinese and American were two planets, I was a vagabond flitting back and forth between them, unsettled and insecure, never quite belonging in either one.
My family is small, since relocating both my sister and mother have passed on. I spent most of my adult life caring for my grandparents before they also transitioned. Only myself, my nephew, niece and their children remain. I was fortunate to grow up in a hard working family who valued education. My grandparents grew up in the south picking cotton, mother was the first member of our family to graduate from high school. I am the first with a college degree. During my valedictorian speech, I dedicated each of my BCC degrees to a family member who never had the opportunity to pursue a higher education.
Growing up a white male didn’t give me the extra boost in life like many people may think. My childhood wasn’t great where I had two parents love eachother forever and ever. Instead when I was eight I had two parents who got divorced and resented eachother, forcing me to switch back and forth between houses. As I got older my parents didn’t magically become best friends agian either. They to this day still despise one another. When I turned sixteen I was forced to make the decision on which parent I would choose to live with full time. Choosing my mother was the hardest decision i’ve ever had to make. Being as I lived with parents that don’t believe in granting their children with anything but the necessities I had to purchase my own car if I wanted one. So I
My cultural identity has been shaped by the occupations of my parents, growing up in southern culture, and living in the self-enhancing American culture.
My cultural Identity consists of many different things that are very different yet very comparable to other cultures around the world. Some may say my culture is insane, some may say it is lame, and some may say it is perfect. But I see my cultural identity as my own set of rules and participation that I choose to follow. Even though my cultural background says otherwise by including certain rules and traditional ways of doing things such as weddings, funerals, etc. these are just some things that I do not agree with and would rather stick to my own way of doing things based on my perspective on life.
On Monday, October 11, 1999, in a hospital in Nigeria, I was born. If questioned about the early part of my life, I would not be able to respond. I cannot recall memories of elementary school, let alone early childhood, everything was hazy. I was not born in the United States, but I have no memories from Nigeria. In my childhood, I felt separated from my African side, like I could not be called Nigerian and the only remnant of my African identity was my name. I felt on a similar level, what civil rights activist W.E.B. Du Bois, called the double consciousness, of how I did not feel like I could choose a side. My nationalities were in conflict because I was hesitant to accept the Nigerian culture, and I could not call myself an American. I would become apathetic when Nigeria was brought up in conversation. I was more attune with identifying myself as an American rather than being a Nigerian, I was afraid of claiming a nation that I did not belong to.
Wait. Be still. Don't go over the line. Don't let go. Wait for it. "BANG!" My reactions were precise as I sprung out of the blocks. The sun was beating down on my back as my feet clawed at the blistering, red turf. With every step I took, my toes sunk into the squishy, foul smelling surface, as my lungs grasped for air. Everything felt the way it should as I plunged toward my destination. I clutched the baton in my sweaty palms, promising myself not to let go. My long legs moved me as fast as I could go as I hugged the corner of the line like a little girl hugging her favorite teddy bear. The steps were just like I had practiced. As I came closer to my final steps, my stomach started twisting and my heart beat began to rise. The different colors of arrows started to pass under my feet, and I knew it was time.
If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude.