Personal Narrative: I Am A White American

Am I a White American?
Being a white American with fairly tan skin has become a bit of a challenge for me considering the diverse world we live in today. Often times I am asked what are you? My quick response is always I am an American. Being that my answer never satisfies their question they feel the need to ask the complicated question. What’s your ethnicity? To satisfy them I explain how my ancestors were from somewhere in Europe and that is simply all I know. You see though that puts me in a bit of a pickle because in a world where people live and die by their culture, I find myself wanting to give mine up.
I was born in Florida which is known to be a melting pot for many different cultures and ethnic groups. This was a blessing for me, as a kid due to me not really fitting into any specific ethnic categories. When I was a baby my mom
would often receive a phone call from The Browns informing her that I was at their house in nothing but a diaper. The Browns are an African American family I grew up with and to this day still live only a few houses down from me. At a very young age, I was exposed to their cultural differences and that was quickly proven by me not knowing how to eat crawfish. The Browns used to have a monthly party, inviting friends and family to come over and have a feast. Going over for the first time I expected hotdogs and hamburgers, as that is what my family often eats. Well instead of hotdogs and hamburgers I got crawfish, sausage, and corn boil the Louisiana way, after all Mr. Brown is a Louisiana native and proud of it. The biggest surprise wasn’t just the difference in food but instead the amount of family members The Browns had. I come from a rather small family and only have 25 family members that I am related to by blood. The Browns must have had about 20 immediate family members at these particular parties. Even at my family’s reunion which happens in Wisconsin about every three years only about 15 family members will show up. I often times find myself wishing for a bigger family or even for some of them to live in Florida, other than my Grandpa. This wouldn’t be the last time I would be shown how different my family was from others.
While attending middle school I became friends with several male Latinos.
Together we were the three amigos. This made sense for the both of them, one being from Panama and the other from Brazil, making me the wildcard. Now looking back at our friendship they both treated me as if I was family, not the outsider I thought I was. I knew our friendship was of great significance when my Brazilian friend (Thomas) brought me a Brazilian bandana for me to wear during Hispanic Heritage Month. As for my other amigo, Anwar would often lend me his football video games, which I found strange. It wasn’t just this new found friendliness I received that was strange, but the fact that they called soccer football. Growing up there was only one football and it was watched every Sunday during the 16-week season. My family always grills out on Sunday hours before kickoff, often times snacking on chips and dip. The Spanish football (soccer) was a much different experience, as I usually found an empanada winding up in my hands with Anwar always insisting for me to have just one more to eat. Just like that I was being accepted into another new
culture.
So the next time somebody wants to ask that complicated question of what’s your ethnicity? I will respond with the complicated answer. That being a white American in today’s world means much more than just having European ancestors. It means you are a person who strives to see the beauty in other ethnic groups and one who adopts others cultural ideas and beliefs. As I look onto our ever growing diverse world I will continue to find many different ways to live my life through others cultures. as that is who I truly am.