My middle school days were not the best; I encountered many instances of bigotry from students. I was teased endlessly and disrespected because of my diversity. Born and raised of
West Indian Heritage, students made my life a living hell because I spoke with an accent.
“Where are you from?” instantly began the conversation. It indicated what I said and how it was said, especially since it was delivered with a Caribbean accent. I quickly realized that my accent was the first thing people noticed about me. Answering questions in class became a struggle; students didn’t quite understand what I was saying because words were pronounced differently.
Class was followed by silly, ignorant remarks and the automatic assumption about my background which aren’t usually favorable. I often went home upset about other kids mocking me, telling me I sounded stupid. On the top of my miseries, the teachers have taken it upon themselves to correct me whenever I spoke in class. Where I was raised, dialectical/not standard words were often used. This became an issue for me because in the United States school system, dialect was seen as grammatical errors. My accent interfered with my school success. It got to the point where I was embarrass to speak in class, my heart was broken because I enjoyed speaking in class and being interactive with people. I was often worried that speaking in class will destroy my social confidence, and students will continuously make fun of me. My parents and others in my family thought the best chance of success would be the education system in America. …show more content…
My parents made a lot of sacrifices to send me to the United
States. It was made to further my studies and become a well-rounded student. However, students failed to realize that. They didn’t understand the struggle my family experienced to get me here.
My family sent me to the United States to receive the best education possible and that what I was doing.I maintained perfect attendance throughout middle school. I was never tardy and I excelled on all exams and homework assignments. Branched from a family of doctors, RNs, and teachers, I had no other choice than to be a profound student. All of my good qualities didn’t seem to impress the pupils in my class. I was referred to as a nerd, a geek, and even a teacher’s pet. I couldn’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve heard students laughing at the way I spoke.
The most outward display of injustice directed at me occurred in the sixth grade .In social studies class I had to do a presentation in front of the class. I was beyond terrified, one I was shy and also I was insecure about the way I pronounce words with that strong accent of mine. As I was doing the presentation someone shouted, “I can’t understand you, I can’t understand you!” I was so embarrassed, I had wanted to cry. My feelings were deeply hurt.No one seems to notice my bewilderment or the withdrawal at the assault on my speech. And no one bothers to acknowledge or address the prejudice reflected in the responses. “I can’t stand that Jamaican accent, it’s annoying,” the person said. Those comments of harsh judgment toward my accent caused grief and cut me to the core. That was outright unkindness.Even though his remarks robbed me of love, I never challenge the ignorant comments, I was too scared. I didn’t know how to address the teasing with other
West Indian Heritage, students made my life a living hell because I spoke with an accent.
“Where are you from?” instantly began the conversation. It indicated what I said and how it was said, especially since it was delivered with a Caribbean accent. I quickly realized that my accent was the first thing people noticed about me. Answering questions in class became a struggle; students didn’t quite understand what I was saying because words were pronounced differently.
Class was followed by silly, ignorant remarks and the automatic assumption about my background which aren’t usually favorable. I often went home upset about other kids mocking me, telling me I sounded stupid. On the top of my miseries, the teachers have taken it upon themselves to correct me whenever I spoke in class. Where I was raised, dialectical/not standard words were often used. This became an issue for me because in the United States school system, dialect was seen as grammatical errors. My accent interfered with my school success. It got to the point where I was embarrass to speak in class, my heart was broken because I enjoyed speaking in class and being interactive with people. I was often worried that speaking in class will destroy my social confidence, and students will continuously make fun of me. My parents and others in my family thought the best chance of success would be the education system in America. …show more content…
My parents made a lot of sacrifices to send me to the United
States. It was made to further my studies and become a well-rounded student. However, students failed to realize that. They didn’t understand the struggle my family experienced to get me here.
My family sent me to the United States to receive the best education possible and that what I was doing.I maintained perfect attendance throughout middle school. I was never tardy and I excelled on all exams and homework assignments. Branched from a family of doctors, RNs, and teachers, I had no other choice than to be a profound student. All of my good qualities didn’t seem to impress the pupils in my class. I was referred to as a nerd, a geek, and even a teacher’s pet. I couldn’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve heard students laughing at the way I spoke.
The most outward display of injustice directed at me occurred in the sixth grade .In social studies class I had to do a presentation in front of the class. I was beyond terrified, one I was shy and also I was insecure about the way I pronounce words with that strong accent of mine. As I was doing the presentation someone shouted, “I can’t understand you, I can’t understand you!” I was so embarrassed, I had wanted to cry. My feelings were deeply hurt.No one seems to notice my bewilderment or the withdrawal at the assault on my speech. And no one bothers to acknowledge or address the prejudice reflected in the responses. “I can’t stand that Jamaican accent, it’s annoying,” the person said. Those comments of harsh judgment toward my accent caused grief and cut me to the core. That was outright unkindness.Even though his remarks robbed me of love, I never challenge the ignorant comments, I was too scared. I didn’t know how to address the teasing with other