This essay answers prompt 4. “Don’t forget your reading log!”, my mom reminds me as I’m closing the car door. The sharp winter winds whip my freshly showered hair, sending chills throughout my body. I began the journey down the cracked cement sidewalks of Roynon Elementary, towards my second grade class. An aged white woman a couple feet away was walking towards me. I noticed her cold gaze. I now recognize this as contempt. She passed and I continued. I didn’t understand that. “Don’t forget I’m picking you up later”, my mom reminds me as she drives away. I was 12 and joined a new softball team. I was nervous, scared I wasn’t going to fit in. My teammates were considerably older than me, and seemingly grownup, they were also all Mexican. Our coach sends us on a warm-up lap around his neighborhood.…show more content… Suddenly, a white lifted truck slows down and approaches our group. A middle-aged white man appears from the rolled-down window and stares. He says without amusement, “You know we don’t support Mexican gangs here, you know?” I was starting to understand. The “Don’t forget to tip”, my mom reminds me as she’s dropping me and my friends off at I-Hop. The beginning of summer is upon us now, the hot California sun burning our skin. As I walked into the building, the fumes of freshly buttered pancakes wafted into my nostrils, accompanied by the sizzling of eggs meeting the surface of the grill. My stomach screamed with hunger. As I’m browsing through the menu, my eye catches an unfamiliar flavor. It reads “tres leches”. Confused, I read it aloud to my friends. Suddenly, bursts of laughter erupt around the table, seemingly amused by my question. I was confused until I heard a mocking of my pronunciation. Friends chirp, “Yeah, don’t forget you’re white Sophia”. I didn’t speak Spanish around them
