My parents like all parents are faced with raising their children with culturally suitable morals and ethics that will not only prepare them for adulthood but also molds them into the person they are today. For my brother and I, we were taught from young where my parents, grandparents, and other ancestors were from. Even though I never went back to the country my parents or grandparents were born in I was able to gain a sense of my ethnic self. Whether it was taking my brother and me to events those in the Guyanese culture celebrated or showed us picture to keep the culture alive. I believe something simply as cooking traditional cuisines that originated from their country my parents did to show us this is what we ate. My dad hung up flags, shared stories of life growing up in the …show more content…
My parents were proud of being African American Guyanese immigrants, and they often speak about their grandparents who were Portuguese, British, and from St. Vincent. My parent’s sibling didn’t all look alike and their ancestors didn’t either and I never once heard them speak badly about them being lighter or darker. In fact, my father would boast about having ancestors that are White, Spanish and Indian. Gaining a sense of ethnic and racialized self both worked in my favor and against me. I live in a neighborhood surrounded by many different ethnicity, nationalities, and race. Along the years it changed, less and less Caucasian people lived in the neighborhood. I was raised around people of many different racial identity and ethnicities, this allowed me to accept them because I was exposed as an adolescent. My parents shared friends of various races in which they spoke highly about and they never instilled in me that I shouldn’t accept a certain race. However, I wish they taught me how to deal with those that are not so accepting of African
Being a Hispanic have impacted all my entire life; I lived 15 years of my life in Mexico I love being there because most part of my family live in Nuevo Laredo, I was cursing my last months of 8th grade and one day my mom told me that she was thinking about send me here to the U.S to start learn English; since I’m a U.S citizen and I didn't know the language of my country, I accepted. The most hard prove was live without having my mom at my side, since I live with my aunt now; when the days passed here in the U.S I started to depressed myself because I missed so much my house and all my family, one day in the middle of the night I call my mom crying and I told her that I really want go back to Mexico, but she didn’t take into account my desire my mom just explained me that it will be the best for my future and with the time I will be thankful with her for don’t let me go back. My mom, and my grandmother are the ones who motivates me to be a better student. Actually I’m in dual enrollment and I have taken AP classes; sometimes is hard for me talk, read or write in another language that the one I was accustomed but, every time I fail I get up and persist until I’m able to do what I want.
I view Dominicans and Afro-Americans similarly because I am a person of these two ethnic groups. Most of the time people perceive me as Black and other time’s people call me Puerto Rican. I know I shouldn’t get angry, but I feel like others don’t respect me and are trying to label me. My mother is Black and my father is Dominican. Most Dominicans think that it is an odd mixture, but they don’t realize that they have the same origins from Africa. In a way it is hard to be a part of two ethnic groups, but it is very interesting. In my life, I had a lot of criticism from both sides of my family. My mother doesn’t like my father’s family and the feeling is mutual. So, I have many problems with my race, but I am still very proud. I always try to unite my family to become equal.
Growing up in Jamaica, I enjoyed worship. I remembered looking forward to church. We clapped our hands and stomped our feet and made a joyful noise unto the Lord. We didn't have keyboards and drums. We clapped and sounded like timbrels. I remembered when I learned to testify and it helped me and several others to build our confidence. I would sing in the local churches when they have special events. I watched young people being filled with the Holy Ghost and I wanted it so badly that I would pray and ask God to give it to me. I remembered watching my mother and my sister speak in tongues and I so wanted to do it.
My cultural identity, is Haitian American. My parents come from a country of beautiful landscape and valleys of the hidden treasures of knowledge, diverse people, and rustic towns. My parents walked up steep plateaus for water, laid in grassy plains for peace, and dive into the sea for cooling in Haiti’s humid heat. Although, I come from a culture of deep history, the first country to gain independence in the result of a successful slave rebellion, my parents knew the plague of suffering Haiti’s battle with will not recover through the poverty, unemployment, and illiteracy. As Haiti fought through its demons, my parents fought to provide plentiful opportunity for their family and immigrated to the United States of America.
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
As a Haitian immigrant, my parents and I would spend our family vacations in our hometown of Port-au- Prince, Haiti. I would enjoy participating in family activities such as card games, cooking, and just the quality time that we spent together. We could play these games and laugh amongst each other for hours, without a care in the world merely telling jokes and listening to the elder parables. Amongst my family I felt untouchable. Like a tree in the wind, my only cares were that of the breeze and the beauty of my foundation. In the sway of the wind I was overcome with a sense of peace.
I remember the first time I came to America; I was 10 years old. Everything was exciting! From getting into an airplane, to viewing magnificent, huge buildings from a bird’s eye view in the plane. It was truly memorable. After staying few days at my mother’s house, my father and I wanted to see what Dallas looks like. But because my mother was working the whole day, it wasn’t convenient for her to show us the area except only on Sundays. Finally, we went out to the nearby mall with my mother. My father and I were astonished after looking at a variety of stores. But after looking at different stores, we were finally tired and hungry, so we went into McDonald’s. Not being familiar with fast food restaurants, we were curious to try American
Since Altoona is a primarily white city, I grew up being around white people 90% of the time. The only time I really spent being around blacks was with my father everyday, and with family members on my father's side. So of course I consider myself as being whiter because of the fact that I was raised mostly around white people. I know I don't look like the average white person, or the average black person, but who's to say what blacks and whites are suppose to look like. I have my own unique color. It is what my biracial friends a...
which I feel that I have the best of both worlds. Along with my mother’s
I stopped signifying with only one race and fitting into some of the racial stigmas that people place on me. I also came up with a good conclusion: Biracial or multiracial people like me, are not “half-breeds,” “quarters-halves,” etc. We are humans. Fully. Period. Therefore, as a person, I have just as much right to embrace 100% of every race and culture I came from, just as much as everyone from a different race and culture who are not mixed. In other words, just because I am a product of more than one race does not make me half of it—half-black or a half-Filipino. No. I may be biracial, but I am not half-half; I am whole and whole. Black and Filipino; one spirit wrapped in a human skin, and my skin color, my hair, or the language I speak do not define my worth. I remember what my sociology professor told me once, and what I also remind my multiracial children today, “You don’t have to pick sides or choose one race to find your unique identity. You just have to define yourself and embrace all of you, every [ethnic/racial] ingredient with one hundred percent of your whole being, not half of
In conclusion growing up with an ethnic background was pretty hard; I did not get ridiculed for looking different or doing things differently. There was when I had to assimilate to be accepted in a new town because I did not want to be known as a nerd if I played with the Asian kids instead when I was at school I adapted and changed my beliefs and played with the White kids to feel accepted. But, the hardest part was not in the social atmosphere it comes when it came to my parents. My parents put up these social barriers to not allow me to expand out of my own race. Growing up I broke out of their chain and started to explore different friends and started to date people of other races.
I was raised in a Nepalese household, where the internal setting of my home was different from the external setting of the predominately white and Christian suburb I grew up in. My parents wanted me to still recognize Nepalese culture, even though I was not living there. My dad would always give lectures on the significance of certain Nepalese holidays and make sure the entire family celebrated each and every holiday. My
Have you ever been discriminated against simply because your skin is darker than the next person? Have you ever been told by someone that “your pretty for a dark skin girl or boy?” Have you ever been racist toward your own race? Since long before we or our parents were born, the black community has faced this problem of racism within the same race. In the black community, it is said that if a person has a lighter skin complexion, then they are superior to those with a darker skin complexion.
As I reflect on who I am and which culture I identify with, I am met with reservation. My parents are both Black Americans, they were both born and raised in the United States, their parent were also born and raised in the US. It is obvious that we derive from African descent; our skin color and physical features yet I find it difficult to relate or identify with my African heritage as slavery has played a pivotal role in separating us from our African origin. African enslavement left us devoid of a way to define ourselves. It severed familial ties and deprived us of any viable opportunity to reclaim them.(www.huffpost.com) We are descendants of African slaves but when I speak to someone who was born in Africa or research African culture, I
Growing up my family taught me what my cultural beliefs should be. We did things together and I lived in an area where the majority was of African American descent.