Personal Narrative: My American Family

I was never raised in that normal American family. My family was different compared to every other family in America. I’ve always envied the kids who would speak English to parents who could fully understand it. Instead, I was born into a family that had trouble reading, writing, and understanding the language of the country they decided to live in.
My earliest recollection of being different was when I was that new kid in middle school. Everyone stared at me like I was that shiny, brand new toy they had to have for Christmas. I sat quietly throughout the whole class day and so at the end, all of my classmates came up to me confidently and asked me all the questions that popped into their little minds. The questions I were expecting were, “Where did you live before?” or “What’s your favorite color?” Sadly, the types of questions I received were nothing like that. “Can you speak English?” “Yea.” “Are you Asian or Chinese?” “Uh. Chinese is Asian but I’m Korean.” “Oh. North or south?” …show more content…
I wanted to be like all of my friends. I wanted to have macaroni and cheese for dinner and story time before bed. Instead of all those fantasies, the closest thing I’ve ever had to that, was eating a small snack from an oriental grocery store and translating the mail we got from the local mailman that day to my parents. My family was the typical Asian family who had a small business with the lead of the household being my father. Yes, the man was smart. Surely one of the smartest men I’ve ever met. He could solve complicated math problems in his head while I was still there right beside him, typing the equation into my TI-84. But dang, the man sure could not pronounce the letter “r”, even if his life depended on