Racism was everywhere and it wasn’t just the adults who saw it, or felt it, but young children as well. I thought everyone was created equal. That we weren't all that different. That no one was judged. I thought I was right, but I realize I couldn't have been more wrong. I was born the daughter of Presbyterian missionaries. My parents had named me Pearl Sydenstricker Buck and I spent virtually half my life in China.
Unlike most other families mine had decided to live with the Chinese rather than in the isolated compound away from them. I and my parents, we saw no need for separation, after all, what bad could it be? The culture and language of China had begun to grab my attention from the moment I started to learn them. I went to
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a Chinese school and wasn’t judged or persecuted for looking different from the other kids. Not once, and so my thought began, it would this in America, right? I was given the chance to confirm my thoughts when the Anti-Foreign Boxer Rebellion walked it’s way into China kicking us out of our home.
My family and I moved to America where I went school at Randolph-Macon Woman's College in Lynchburg, Virginia. I graduated in 1914, not long after getting married and having a beautiful daughter whom I named Carol. Nothing could have been better until I and my husband found out Carol was mentally retarded. She didn’t learn fast like any of the other kids and would act like a four-year-old at the age of six. It wasn't until then that I realized how much discrimination and racism, thrived in America. Carol was constantly judged and I ended up having to educate her in the safety of home. I became extremely tired and sleep deprived after a while. I always loved to write but I no longer could having to educate Carol while my husband was off teaching. So, I asked for enough money from the state to send her to a school for people like her. After, I went back to my home in China and began writing. While I was there I helped my mother who had become weak and ill and obtained a job teaching Chinese children. My love children expanded and I couldn't even conjure the idea of them ever being persecuted for looking different. Although I still loved children I took a break from teaching and wrote several books, a novel titled Wang Lung which described peasant life in china and The Good Earth which became so popular it won the Pulitzer
Prize. Not long after my happiness was squandered. The scenes of lynchings, poverty, and despair in both china and America began to overwhelm me. I had never imagined such cruelty in America or china. I learned about racism and how strong it was in both countries. I found out that in china American soldiers who had a child with a Chinese woman would be considered American because in china you are the fathers race. But people in America saw it the other way. There were children un-loved because of a silly thing called the race. I went back to America and divorced my husband, not long after marrying Richard Walsh head of the publishing company. We adopted three baby boys and a girl not long after despite what race they were because it did not matter to us what they looked like. Not long after I received word that two half-Asian infants considered “unadoptable” because they had to “match” the parents. This appalled me and drove me to create the Welcome House a foster agency with a goal to find homes for biracial children. It wasn't until after my death people began to realize I created the prism through which an entire generation of Americans formed an opinion about china and its people. Although I'm in a history lesson or studied in college my work has changed the lives of millions. With this I say to anyone who is different whether they are smart, or look different, behave different believer in something different... “The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death.” ― Pearl S. Buck
Oftentimes the children of immigrants to the United States lose the sense of cultural background in which their parents had tried so desperately to instill within them. According to Walter Shear, “It is an unseen terror that runs through both the distinct social spectrum experienced by the mothers in China and the lack of such social definition in the daughters’ lives.” This “unseen terror” is portrayed in Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club as four Chinese women and their American-born daughters struggle to understand one another’s culture and values. The second-generation women in The Joy Luck Club prove to lose their sense of Chinese values, becoming Americanized.
In the early years of my life, adapting to the foreign customs of America was my top priority. Although born in America, I constantly moved back and forth from Korea to the US, experiencing nerve-racking, yet thrilling emotions caused by the unfamiliarity of new traditions. Along with these strange traditions, came struggles with accepting my ethnicity. Because of the obvious physical differences due to my race, the first question asked by the students in elementary school was, “Are you from China?” These inquiries were constantly asked by several of American students until middle school which transformed to “You must be good at math” referencing the stereotypical intellect that Asian are perceived to have. Through continuous insult on my Asian heritage, I began to believe and later hate the person I was due to criticism made by teenagers which I started to see true despite all the lies that was actively told. This racial discrimination was a reoccurring pattern that
Before I was five, I thought I was Chinese. However, I wondered why I couldn’t understand the Chinese patrons of Chinatown restaurants. Upon learning my true ethnicity, I pulled out a mammoth atlas we had under the bed. My father pointed to an “S”-shaped country bordering the ocean, below China. It was then that I learned my parents were refugees from Vietnam. “Boat people,” my mother, still struggling to grasp English back then, would hear kids whispering when she walked through the halls of her high school. Like many refugees, although my parents and their families weren’t wealthy when they came to America, they were willing to work hard, and like many Vietnamese parents, mine would tell me, “We want you to be success.”
My early educational experience made me feel alienated and discouraged. In addition to the relentless news reports of the statistical inferiority of African American students in comparison to Caucasian students, public schools I attended were meager in racial diversity. While it is normal for a person to be proficient in some areas and deficient in others, as one of the few African Americans in my class, I felt representative of my entire race. Moreover, I was not athletic or coordinated enough for the positive stereotypes, and my grades were not high enough to refute the negative stereotypes. Every C and D served as a harrowing reminder that I was a disgrace to all the people who fought and died for my right to an education.
For my research project I chose the topic of Racism in Children's Literature. I chose this area of study because it is something that bothers me and I know as a child in school I was very uncomfortable with assignments that dealt with racism. One day I would like to make a difference to all the people who are affected by racism. My hypothesis states that if educators are better trained to deal with the delicate subject of racism in children's literature, books would not be banned, yet actually teach the lesson the authors of these books intended for all of us to learn.
My perception of our world is that racism exists everywhere, even in the land of liberty, America. I am aware of the fact that there is racism against not only blacks, but also whites, Asians, along with people from all other ethnicities. I believe racism is deplorable in any form. Therefore I do my best not to be racist in any way.
I was brought up with the believe that if something unjust takes place in our life then it is best to keep quiet and let the lord do his job.
"You always have to be twice as good and work twice as hard," my mother repeatedly told me growing up. This never truly struck a chord with me until I grew older and finally understood what this mantra meant. Not only even being one of the few black people, but also being one of the few people of color in my elementary and middle schools often made me feel like I was an outsider to an elite group I would gain membership to. During this period of my life, my desire to conform grew stronger than ever as did the burning feelings of discontent towards my heritage. I began to submerge myself in white American culture, rejecting my own at every chance possible. Hiding behind a culture that was untrue to mine, I started to gain acclamation from my
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.
One of the things I realized, at this time in society other cultures do not feel as joyous about their current cultural status like it, was when I was growing up. People were happy to be from another culture. I remember times when I went to events like Kwanzaa and Cinco de Mayo, with open conscious to learn and enjoy myself. My interview is with Carlos my neighbor, we talked about how the United States used to be described as a "melting pot" in which different cultures/events have contributed their own certain "flavors" to American culture. I instantly understood he knew he was from a very unaccepted minority group in his responses. Carlos, who is 58 years of age told me in the mid-80s he felt like he belongs to America. This indicated “speaking in
How many of you like to travel? Do you travel alone or with group of people? How about go to another country alone? Could you ever imagine to take a plane and fly away somewhere by yourself? Some people get freaked out just mentioning this. They start thinking about all this horror stories of kidnapping, robbery, cheating. However, there is no guarantee that it is not going to happen if you are with your friend.
It is not always easy for Caucasians to talk about race especially whether any of their when it comes to their own feelings about it been prejudicial own responses to those of other races are or have No one wants to believe oneself capable of racism or even having made prejudgments about people that are a product of one's fears or other negative emotions For example don't like admitting that I have not always been free of such Even thoughts about other people some of my own race and some of others in though I'm tall now and, because of my size, am almost never in situations which I'm afraid for my safety I used to be small and I used to be afraid of others especially bigger boys who would bully me. Though none were when African American that
Well, I guess there is no true way to sugar coat this so from my personal experiences, I feel as if black people are far more racist than white people. Now before completely shutting this down, at least hear the examples. First off, lets discuss the lecture from October 21, 2014 when we watched the video on social class. There was the WASPs and Jack and Jill. The organization WASP was never created as a group originally. It was the term used for Protestants of English descent that spoke the Angelo-Saxon language. The “W” was never incorporated until 1957 by a political scientist; even then, the “W” stood for wealthy, not white. In 1938, Jack and Jill of America, Inc. was opened by Marion Stubbs solely for African Americans. And even then, the
Being an optimist, right off the bat, i would hope people, even my roommate, would notice my calm bubbly personality. Most try to notice the pessimist in people, but me? I try to find out what value people have, in hope they do the same to me. I want my future roommate to know, i can make a change. I want to invent vaccines, prolong people's lives, find the cure to cancer even.
“JV, you have ten minutes!”, said the announcer after the gun went off. “C’mon ladies, we need to stride out and circle up.”, I said to all of my teammates. Kelsey was the one who led us in prayer that day. Lining up anticipating the start of the race really gives me an adrenaline rush. “Runners to your mark…Get set..”, in the booming voice of the official. Boom! The sound of the gun indicating the start of the race. My first mile is always a little too fast. I can’t help it though, my nerves are going crazy. “You’re at 7:10 Alexis! Keep that pace! You can do it girl!”, I heard from Jane. That first mile went by so quick. Now I was onto my second, the one that always killed me. A big hill was coming up, and I knew I would have a hard time making it up it and then recovering. The whole time all I heard was, “Push through, almost there! C’mon girl, finish strong!”, from Jane of course. Before I knew it I was in the last 400 meters of the race, fighting for that 15th place medal with the girl next to me. “Alexis, kick it NOW! Last 400, this is your race, get that girl!”, said Jane. I pushed through and had a strong finish, beating the girl that Jane encouraged me to catch.