Life of Being an African American Essay

Throughout my life, I have had to battle with my own identity, as many people do. It is not just a black thing, I’m sure. I know people from all different ethnicities, who struggle to find themselves, but this has little to do with the way they look on the outside – it is the quest to find out who they are on the inside. I found that person when I was thirteen years old, but then when I moved to the United States from Chicago eight years ago, I underwent another sort of struggle with identity. This time it was because of the way I looked, and it was less than a personal struggle than it was a fight against discrimination. I had never really experienced any form of racial discrimination in Chicago; almost everyone who lived in our area was African American, with a few exceptions. There were a few white people, but they apparently were not indicative of the general population in America, as I never received any mistreatment or discrimination from them, and likewise, I do not believe they suffered any discrimination by my fellow African Americans. Everyone sort of just fit in and carried on with their daily lives. I am ashamed to admit that this is how I thought that my life would be in Texas as well. I did expect things to be different. I knew that Dallas were more affluent and I knew that there were buildings as big as some of our smaller towns. The buildings in the brochures seemed to reach the sky. I believed that the sky would be bluer, the air cleaner, and the people would be as friendly as they seemed to be on television and in the brochures. All of these shiny, smiling white faces would greet me with open arms and assist me in any way possible to make my stay wonderful. However, the exact opposite has happened to me. Although I am not the only African American by far to come to Dallas, I certainly felt all alone my first six months here. While I did meet other African Americans, and they welcomed me, they were all busy struggling to make a living or to learn the language just as much as the next. It seemed even the older African Americans who had lived here for over ten years still never managed to fit in. I have been called â€Å"stupid†, â€Å"ignorant† and â€Å"dumb† despite the fact that I am more intelligent than many of the people calling me this. .One of the things that annoys me the most is when I try to talk to someone and they talk back to me with a slang accent. I have had people speak very slowly and with raised volume and exaggerated hand movements when they are trying to talk to me. I guess they think that deaf and dumb. Stereotypes exist, I understand this, and it really doesn’t affect me as much as being discriminated against does. For example, I can take people assuming that I work at a chicken place or even asking â€Å"what are you†. But when I take the time to talk to people and explain and let them into my life a little, I expect a bit more than from someone on the street, but I don’t often get it. In my small group of friends, which is mainly white people, they don’t think I’m stupid or ignorant, unlike those strangers I meet on the street, and they don’t think I’m deaf and dumb; they actually think that I’m of the most caring person, and will do anything for them. Living in America is a dream for many, and while there are so many opportunities here, I have to say that it is a struggle for an African American to fit in. I can only hope that future employers will not discriminate or that the only jobs that I can find will be dishwashing and working for a place that sells chicken. While these jobs are suitable for some, they are not why I came to America. In essence, I am chasing the American dream, and while many Americans have discriminated against me, I can only hope that the dream will not.