Discuss an accomplishment or event, formal or informal, that marked your transition from childhood to adulthood within your culture, community, or family.

Everyone looks up to someone, an aunt, uncle, grandparent, parent. Just like most kids, my mom was my superhero. Growing up, she taught me to not take things for granted, learn to fend for myself, and self-love—despite societal mindsets. In my eyes, she was able to conquer anything, even if that anything was death itself. At the mere age of 8, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. The cape that she once wore, diminished in plain sight as I watched her fight for her life for months on end. Although I was already living with my grandparents, with my mother being in the hospital they had to provide me and my other two siblings with extra care. Of course, this took an extreme toll on my academics, and for a short period in my life the concept of God. Being a middle child, I was raised by both my older sister and my mom. They’ve both taught me tremendous things that I still use today—how to tie a shoelace, and manners to name a few. My younger brother, Paul, who was around 4 at the time, didn’t understand what was happening. Me being the older sister, I had to keep a smile on my face 24/7 despite the circumstances. It was my duty to let him know that everything would be ok, even if I didn’t entirely believe it myself. I can still see the long hospital hallways, the bland cafeterias, and a green girl I saw as I walked past the Pediatric department at UNC’s hospital. At school, I would silently weep to myself when I saw other kids and their parents.  My dad passed when I was 3, so his death didn’t really affect me until I got older, and realized that the traditional norm of fathers walking their daughters down the aisle would merely be a mythical dream to me. My transition from childhood to adulthood came with the responsibility I had for my brother. Just like my sister took care of me, I took care of my brother. I had to grow up, at 8. My brother and I’s relationship could easily be a synonym to ‘best friends.’ Although I was only 4 years older than him, he’d constantly tell me “I want to be like you when I’m older, smart and strong.” Strong? Even now I struggle with the ability to withstand little aspects of fear, yet alone the constant displeasures life throws at you when you least expect it. It took me until the end of 4th grade to realize that my mother’s cape hasn’t disappeared, it was just stuck in a branch that she mistakenly hit while flying. This experience didn’t just affect me mentally but also physically. Luckily, my mother was spared, but the experiences that I’ve gained from this will last a lifetime.

Common Application (Prompt 1)

           Black. The color that resides in my skin and determines my worth—especially in a society that longs for the dismantlement of the colored—is all most people see of me. For centuries, the media has portrayed African Americans as a nuisance to society. Because of this and the constant thought of “white supremacy,” all acts of violence, at least the one’s I have seen, have been deliberately placed on people of African descent — particularly men. Although I have not physically been attacked, I have witnessed first hand the underlying effects of being associated with the color black. Hatred, unruliness, uneasiness to name a few.

              Growing up in a rather suburban neighborhood, questions regarding the authenticness of my hair captivated my everyday life. Replying with the prompted “yes” I’ve grown accustomed to, they’d simply run their fingers through my hair and tell me “your hair is too good for a black girl, what are you mixed with?” The unfortunate thing is the majority of the people that questioned my hair shared the same skin color as me. The contagious side effects of mainstream media and society, in general, has engraved into minds that ‘black people can’t have long hair.’ For most of my life, my hair has been hidden under the facade of straight hair. My mom, who I love and hold dearly, demands that my hair looks ‘tight and orderly’ when straight instead of ‘all over the place.’ Unable to properly suggest the way I wanted my hair to be, I’d just go along with it hoping somehow water would kink my hair back to its natural state. There are times when tears would run down my cheeks, in hope of making her realize that embracing my blackness was a part of me. Yet, it seems she never understands that without my blackness I’m no longer the strong confident woman it took years for me to be.

           As a soft-spoken person, I am often misidentified as trying to be white. I didn’t know being proper was only a white trait? Yet alone a trait African Americans weren’t able to possess. Out of all the things I supposedly was unable to withhold, lack of education and properness affected me the most. Did people really think this low of African Americans? Sadly the reality of this question came to light, and the answer was devastating— they did. Stereotypes placed on young African Americans taint my everyday lifestyle. True, there are some people who do align with the stereotypes placed on us, but that doesn’t give anybody the right to pin their qualities on the whole race. To this day, I have found myself purposely trying to ‘change’ my voice/vocabulary to fit into the white category— for the means of survival. The voice that I use to talk to my friends, is completely different when approached by someone in a stereotypical suit and tie. Why? Because that’s what I’ve been taught. “If you talk the way you do with your friends, you’re never going to be anything in life.” I believed this. Nobody wants an ‘uneducated’ person working for them, especially if they’re black and uneducated.

           Being towards the end of the economic ladder for centuries has cost distortion of both our mental and physical capabilities. In the process, many people, especially of color, live up to the stereotypes placed on their race. Malcolm X once stated, “The most disrespected person in America is the black woman.” Identifying as such has not only caused me to become stronger but also prompted the want and desire to indulge deeper into my roots. Black is a community of pride, a place where people within the community accept you and gives you a sense of belonging.

Because black is beautiful, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.