How Would You Feel? Essay, Research Paper
HOW WOULD YOU FEEL?
A wound becomes a scar that goes away or stays forever; of course, this depends on how deep the wound is. Scars that are permanent are usually unpleasant to see and cause embarrassment. Though scars usually occur on the skin they can also make their mark on the heart. Scars to the heart are not made physically but emotionally. It is said that these types of scars are permanent if not deadly due to their cause. I found that out one day while I was taking full advantage of recess and was worried only of getting tagged. Nothing could have bothered me on that cool October morning and nothing could have warned me of the horrific event that would change my life forever. In that half hour of recess I knew I was a regular kid like everyone else and I knew that my friends liked me for whom I was. It had never occurred to me that someone might dislike me or even hate me for who I was. At the age of six, I was still ignorant of the many wounds life had to offer and especially those that would scar forever.
There I was playing with my friends Mark, John, Mathew, Kenny and Lloyd. We were desperately running away from Kenny because we had just thrown him into the BFI dumpster. He had a revolting smell and was trying to contaminate us with his stench by trying to touch us. The teachers found out and decided to end recess early. Like in any of these situations, we were lined up and asked how this was done and who did it. Well Mark and Lloyd confessed their sin and were taken away. During this time I bent down to tie my shoe. (If I knew what was going to happen at that moment I would have never tied my shoe.)
?Hey Jacob,? I heard my name called out and looked up to see who called. SPLAT!!!! I felt the slimy cold texture of the spit run down my cheek. ?We don?t like you because you?re brown!?
?Yeah, your ugly!? SMACK!! Like if the spitting and the insulting wasn?t bad enough I also got kicked in the buttocks.
I didn?t know what to do. For a second time stopped and the world ceased to exist for me. Stunned and in shock I wiped the spit off my face, stood up again, and finished tying my shoe in tears. In my mind I couldn?t think of anything to do because I couldn?t hit two girls, especially the ones everyone liked and were suppose to be ?angels.? At that moment they turned into dark angels that had opened my eyes to bigotry. As I walked into class the teacher asked why I had teary eyes. Instantly I noticed that she also had a different skin tone so I kept quiet thinking she disliked brown people to. This was only the beginning of my profound wound.
From that day on, I began to try to find ways to stop being brown. One of my theories was that if I stopped drinking chocolate milk and only drank white milk my skin would lighten so then I too could be liked. Another of my theories was not to get hit by the sun at all. Due to this I began to like long sleeve shirts and pants. I wouldn?t finish my work so I wouldn?t have to go recess and rather stay inside and finish my work. When I noticed this wasn?t enough I began to take more showers and often scrubbing so hard that my skin would begin to peel away because it was so dry and harmed form the harsh scrubbing. I began to notice also that all my friends and most of my family was of lighter skin than I was so I started to fear them as well. Though this was only the beginning it began to affect drastically.
After a couple of years went by I understood that I couldn?t change my color so I stopped worrying about how to get whiter, but the paranoia was far from over. Therefore, I also built this insecurity towards all people of lighter complexion and of higher status. From that point on I became fearful of calling out the wrong answer to my anglo teacher or making a mistake in front of my white peers. I also became fearful of talking to my parent?s friends and workers that had light skin as well. The word white and anglo became terrifying words to me and my scar was not embarrassing to me but an embarrassment. Feelings of insecurity over took me and did away with any self-esteem that I had in me. Not only this but I also became a clam to society. Afraid to talk to anyone and very hard to communicate with, no one was ever quite sure why I was like this and no one knew if I had a problem or I was just shy.
Scars are ugly and have ugly stories to them. Maybe they are right to say that heart scars are more distasteful and are more permanent if not deadly. I thank God every day that he showed me his colorblind love and has allowed me to continue, but that scar is still there and will probably never go away. Still, one must continue in life and only hope to grow from these treacherous experiences.
My name is Jack?