The Surroundings That Make Me Who I Am
Challenges come and go. For me, one of the biggest challenges was overcoming people’s judgment and racism on how they treat people based on color or background. I was born in Mexico and moved to the United States as a toddler, so I only know this country is my home and where my family is. My family faced many difficulties, but I was too young to realize the reality.
As I matured, I became more aware of the harsh reality many immigrants confront–discrimination based on their race. Each of us navigates this challenge uniquely, demonstrating our resilience in adversity.
As a child, most of my schools were dominated by one race. Growing up, We moved a lot. It was expected, and it didn’t matter to me. Until I hit middle school eight years ago when I called home to three different houses. The three houses had different memories that they held inside. The three houses were all in various locations, exposing me to other cultures and races. As I kept growing, I joined sports and clubs for the city and schools for the first time. My family and I moved to a mainly white-dominated school. Midway through 6th grade, it didn’t matter because what did race or ethnicity have to do with school and friends? That’s what I thought, but for the first time in my life, I experienced racism when I didn’t make the 7th-grade girl’s basketball team.
At that school, a few teachers didn’t express the same treatment to all of the students because of their race. It wasn’t just me but other people, too. I saw joining a sport as an opportunity to make friends, and it later became a big part of my life that I consider family. People I would share memories with, it’s not just a sport to me. I was devastated and couldn’t understand why other girls who had never played made the team when I was still playing club basketball during the fall, the same time tryouts for the school team were going on.
When I talked to my parents, I told them I didn’t make the team even though they couldn’t understand. They were very nice in talking to me about what racism was and that in life, there are always going to be people who don’t like every race. I took it all in and prayed to God that it wasn’t in his plans for me to make that school’s basketball team and that when God closed the door, another one would open with much better opportunities. And it was accurate. At the end of 6th grade, we moved again, but this time, it was to a small town with predominantly Black residents. It was a significant change. I moved from a big, rich school with so much to give, a lovely building, and many fun clubs, from art to robotics, to a tiny school that looked old, like it would fall any moment. I was just so surprised by the difference. Later, I understood that not every school has the same resources as white-dominated schools. The other significant difference was culture. The way people talked and dressed differed from what I had been surrounded by. Teachers were more brutal in teaching and talking to students since most had an attitude.
As my first semester went by, I made friends but mostly surrounded myself with Latinos like me. Once again, basketball tryouts were about to begin in my new school, and I was scared I would be rejected or faced with the same problem. My parents could tell that it wasn’t my abilities to play that stopped me from wanting to try out again but my fear of facing racism. Once again, I prayed to God to take it into his own hands whether I made the team. I registered for the team and made it. I couldn’t believe that I made it. I thought I would have to play club basketball out of school forever. I had to make many adjustments. And be okay with being the only Latina on a basketball team dominated by Black players. Even though they were nice and friendly, I always felt different. At the end of my 7th grade basketball session, we accomplished many goals individually. We won county champions; before I knew it, they were friends and family I cherish.
Sadly, I moved back to the school I attended in 6th grade in the middle of my 8th grade year. But I will never forget the lessons that school taught me: to love one another and always try new things. It’s never too late to follow your dream. You’ll never know if you make it for sure if you don’t try it out. They also always made me feel okay with my dyslexia. They even made a class to help students with the same struggle as me to get that extra help. I am so thankful to the teachers in that school for giving their time to help and talk to me.
