By the time I was in six grade, I knew I liked girls just as much as I liked boys. Such a simple revelation made me hate who I was. I was already being raised in a small racist town that hell no acceptance of my Mexican-American culture, and now I had to deal with hiding my sexuality. There was one openly gay person in the whole town. It was by watching this person that I knew I could tell no one of my internal conflicts. He was prosecuted on a daily basis; people physically assaulted him, called him names, and vandalized his belongings. Even though these things were horrible, they were not what stopped me from telling anyone, it was the looks of pure hatred and disgust that kept me quiet. Although my family was not homophobic, they made comments that left me feeling unsure. They would talk about acceptance, but then state that they did not like it when they saw gay people on the streets or on TV. Still the thing that kept me from really telling them was the fact that they too looked at the openly gay guy with barely hidden discontentment. …show more content…
I was leaving the small racist town in Georgia, and going to my birthplace in Texas. I knew I would miss my family and the few friends I had, but I knew I was ready for a change in scenery and in my life. To say that I was fearful would be an understatement. It was a new school, new grade, and new people. I was anxious that people wouldn't like or accept me. What if they didn't talk to me? What if I didn't fit in? These questions and many more were running through my head. But I didn't have to worry! Not even two minutes after I found a seat someone started talking to me, and before I knew it, I had more friends than I ever had in
Since before I was born, my Hispanic heritage played a huge role in who I am and what I have achieved. My great-grandfather immigrated to this country with the desire to provide his family with a better future than his own. My grandpa grew up in Texas on the boarder of Mexico and traveled to Blue Island, Illinois as migrant crop worker. This desire passed down by my grandparents and my great-grandparents has played a tremendous role in propelling me to where I am today. Each generation sought to make the the lives of their children better than their own. My grandma received the opportunity to live in the country of opportunity from her father, and my grandpa paid for my mom to get an education. My mother pushed me to do my best in school and
The increase and changing demography in the United State today, with the disparities in the health status of people from different cultural backgrounds has been a challenge for health care professionals to consider cultural diversity as a priority. It is impossible for nurses and other healthcare professionals to learn and understand theses diversity in culture, but using other approaches like an interpreter is very helpful for both nurses and patients. In this paper of a culturally appropriate care planning, I will be discussing on the Hispanic American culture because, I had come across a lot of them in my career as a nurse. The Hispanic are very diverse in terms of communication and communities and include countries like Mexico, Cuba, Puerto Rico, South and Central America, and some of them speak and write English very well, some speaks but can’t write while some can’t communicate in English at all but Spanish.
If that didn’t keep a gay teen in the closet then I don’t know what would. I tried so hard to convince myself I wasn’t gay. I exercised because I read somewhere that when you sweat your gay tendencies would pour out of your person. I also tried dating girls, but my relationships always ended after I realized that they were just using me to give them fashion advice. I prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed but nothing. There was no way I could tell my family. God must have truly hated
What is culture? Many people ask themselves this question every day. The more you think about it the more confusing it is. Sometimes you start leaning to a culture and then people tell you you’re wrong or they make you feel like a different person because of your culture. I go through this almost every day. Because of the way I was raised I love Mexican rodeo but I was born and raised in Joliet. This can be very difficult trying to understand culture. I live in this huge mix of culture. Culture is personal. People can have many cultures especially in America and because of globalization. Cultural identity is not one or the other, it is not Mexican or American. Cultural identity is an individual relevant thing.
Growing up in a Mexican household where education isn’t a priority or important has been one of my major obstacles that I’ve had to overcome. Although my family’s culture believes that education isn’t necessary their experiences and lifestyles have influence and motivate my choices for my future. I come from a home where I have no role model or someone influential. I have no one to ask for advice for college or anything involve in school. In most homes, older siblings help their younger siblings with their homework or projects but in my house no one was able to provide me with any help. I grew up to be independent and to do anything school related on my own. My parents are both immigrants who didn’t get to finish elementary
Sexual identity wasn?t something I had any sense about until the past few years. I was a ?late bloomer? some might say, but somehow it worked, just awkwardly timed. My first visit to a gay bar came at a very untimely period about a year and a half into my marriage with my ex-wife. There was so much of the world I didn?t know about. I was walking blindly, but seeking eagerly. My first marriage happened from ages twenty-one and lasted until I was twenty-five. I really gave it an honest try, but it just didn?t work. It became apparent to me rather quickly that the situation of my marriage was more than a bit obtuse, but once...
I have never openly spoken about this before. Mainly because I have been ashamed and I feared the way people would look at me if they knew.
Growing up into a Mexican culture family sure was not easy. There were rules of how I should act and what I should do because of my gender. The fact that I was a female meant that I should be girly and help out my mother. I was expected to help in the kitchen and help do all the cleaning at home. If I received a birthday or Christmas gift it was usually a doll or things for a doll. I did what I was told but I just felt like I wanted more than dolls. My neighbors always played tag or soccer outside and I always wanted to join them. I liked to get dirty and not wear a dress or skirt all the time. When I first heard of Personal Exception Theory of Gender, which is defined as, “There are men, there are woman, and there’s me” and I could say this
One day, my sister introduced me to one of her friends. He was loud, funny, and nice. I liked him immediately. Then, my sister told me he was gay. Until this moment, I had never met a homosexual person and now that I had, I was shocked. This was when I first thought that homosexuality might not be a bad thing. By being around him and by having my sister tell me his sexuality was okay, I was resocialized into no longer being
I had a girlfriend and we were openly together at school, so most students and teachers knew of our sexuality. We were the objects of a lot of hate but I had no idea how powerful that hate was until one horrible day.
For organization’s sake, I will start with the past and move to a more present time with my stories. In 5th grade I was just discovering my love of Britney Spears. I remember when I would dance to the constant ridicule of my siblings. They noticed that I was the only boy they ever knew that danced to Britney. Her music was generally classified as girls’ music, and obviously it was improper for me to be dancing to it. I had been jamming out to my Britney one day and my sister had some of her friends over. I may have been jamming out a bit too loudly, and so my sister decided that the privacy of my room needed to be invaded. She along with her cohorts broke into my room and made fun of me. My sister ended my embarrassment with this simple statement. “I can’t wait until Mom and Dad find out you are gay.”
When I was in middle school one of my close friends a the time explained to me what it means to be gay. I explained to her that I do not really know if I like guys or not, but I definitely
any sexual interest in men, and though there was some attraction when I was younger, I always wondered why I could never see myself in love or living the rest of my life with a man. It wasn’t until recent years that I discovered it was simply because I am just more interested in my own sex, romantically and physically. Though I believe it is also important to note that while my mother and friends know of my sexual orientation, none of my other family knows yet. This is probably because of many reasons, but mainly that they are all strict christians, who disagree with nearly everything I believe in. This exception goes only to my
When I was in the third grade, I knew I was gay. However, I didn’t want to be. Third grade was the year I moved to a different elementary school; however, I moved in the middle of the year, so making friends was challenging, especially because of the way I talk and walk. Everyone would even ask me questions about myself, in which I would always deny it. This question-asking wasn’t just a one time thing, it was constant, almost everyday. It continued throughout middle school and high school, and even now.
I was not always this gay. In fact, until rather recently I was still in the half-closet. Still humoring my parents and relatives as they told me one day I would “find a girl I wanted to marry.” My friends knew better. They had seen me makeout with a dude on a couch at a theatre party so the illusion of my straightness had been shattered. It was always bewildering to me that my family never connected the dots. My favorite movie is Singin’ in the Rain,