Personal Narrative: My Grandma's Dehumanizing Experiences

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been told “be proud of who you are” and “stand up for yourself.” My mother always told me, “Never give anyone the permission to make you feel less than who you are.” I’ve always wondered why my mother drilled these lessons into my head. Perhaps, it is because of my grandmother’s dehumanizing experiences growing up in Jim Crow, Mississippi or maybe it’s the overt discrimination my grandfather experienced as a Ghanaian international student in rural Wisconsin.
Growing up in Montgomery County, Maryland has been easy, maybe too easy. I have been blessed to grow up in a racially diverse community. In elementary school, I was led to believe Martin Luther King’s dream had come true and that “people were judged …show more content…
At my school, diversity has been highlighted as one of its best attributes. Yet, I couldn’t help but notice how segregated the student population was. The Black sat with the Blacks. The Whites sat with the Whites. As days turned to weeks and weeks turned into months, I began to meet new people. My new friends consisted girls with sky blue eyed and bone straight blond.
One afternoon, my new friends and I decided to sit at a new spot during lunch. My friends and I enjoyed our lunch, and chatted about our favorite TV show from the night before. A group of African American girls strutted by: dressed in skirts that were barely able conceal shapely bottoms and chest hugging tops that left nothing to the imagination. Their boisterous voices echoed in the halls. The sound of Migos, a well-known rap group, reverberated from their phones, and resounded throughout the halls. The excessive profanities that rolled off their tongues would make any grandmother run for some …show more content…
When the coast was clear my friend felt bold enough to make a comment. My friend looked at the group and said “They’re so ratchet,” and then another friend chimed in, “They are so ghetto.” I rolled my eyes in disgust, but I did not utter a word. Then, my other friend gave me a grin, placed her hand on my shoulder, looked into my eyes, and said “I’m so glad you’re not like them.” I replied with an awkward, “Thank you.” Hold up! Did I not look in the mirror that morning? The last time I checked my dark chocolate skin had not suddenly turned pale. Have I forgotten how my bottom refuses to cooperate in a miniskirt? Why was I accepting her compliment instead of correcting her assumption? Why didn’t I speak up? Why was I so oblivious? Why did I behave like a coward? I should have corrected them for their careless remarks. Remarks that plague so many girls just like me. I failed to stand up for all the black girls stigmatized as by the portrayal of “that stereotypical black girl.” The negative stereotypes such as being loud, rude, and overtly sexual are often associated with black girls. I should have told my friends that it was unfair for them to conclude that the girls were “ghetto” and