Being an American
Its been said that, Americans are a proud group of people. Well, I guess that depends, on the people you ask. I say this because, what it means to you, may not mean the same to me. I want to believe that, being American should mean the same to me as all Americans. I would love to share those same views as Americans who love being an Americans. If I tell you that I feel proud or that pursuit of happiness feeling, I would be lying to you. Its just that I do not have that true feeling of being American.
I can tell you a few things about living in the south and being an American. When I was young, my parents had to endure a lot of pain and suffering at the hands of some so called Americans. For example, my mother took the family shopping for school. My mother was next in line to pay for the items she had picked out. The cashier kept looking over her as if she was not the next person in line. She acted like, we were not all the same people to her. What!... What was the problem? Was it because of our skin color? Were we not American enough? My mother had this look on her face that I had never seen before. She look like someone had punched her in the face. It was painful to see the hurt my mother endured,and the tears in her eyes. And to have your children witness that kind of American behavior, was not what she wanted for her children. Even after this happened, my mother would always say to her children, “its not easy to forget but forgiving comes easy with time”. She use to say that its not all Americans, just the ones who can not let the pass go.
Like my mother, I had to endure a lot too. Writing this paper bring, it all back, like it was yesterday. I remember the one year that my life changed forever. It was the year that schools were integrated , I was headed to the new school. At age eleven I was afraid for my life. As our bus pulled up to the school and we exited the bus, people were all over...