Personal Personal Statement
Posted: Wed Nov 05, 2014 2:51 pm
I think this PS is pretty personal but I'm not sure if I'm conveying enough positive things about myself and my own adversity. Let me know what you guys think, is it compelling?
I was born in the hospital of a nondescript suburb in Minnesota, about a half an hour north of Minneapolis. I remember growing up in a lower income apartment complex and asking my mother “Are we poor?” I remember her telling me, “No, we’re not” but that how much money you have doesn’t matter. As I grew older and we moved from apartments to townhouses back to apartments again, I realized that we weren’t poor - just not particularly privileged. My mother raised me and my older brother on her own; providing for us by working overnights and double shifts at a nursing home and then a hospital. We were two boys largely placed under a latch-key, with little supervision as we came into adolescence. Still my mother managed to imbue into us significant lessons about personal responsibility and individuality. She likes to tell me that we’re her retirement plan and I have no intention of letting her down.
Despite the near-constant changing of scenery, I managed to stay focused in school. My grades were good enough that my mother became set on sending me to a private school where she believed my academic mind could flourish. But sitting in the admissions offices with those other children I always felt a creeping inferior feeling. They had newer clothes, their parents drove nicer cars and they had skin of a different hue. My background made me question whether I would fit into the mold of the elite schools my mother brought me to. Out of fear, I decided to flunk the placement tests and essentially force my way into public school, where I thought I would feel normal and more comfortable.
Because of re-districting I ended up going to one of the poorest performing junior highs in the state. It was a rude awakening for me, never having been around so many people of my own color before. In junior high I learned what an “oreo” was and that it meant me: white on the inside and black on the outside. I felt trapped between two races. Culturally, I identified more with my white friends and my mother’s white adoptive parents. But racially, I was undeniably black.
I remember asking my mother (who is bi-racial) why she decided to have children with a black man. She stood silently, stunned for a moment. I now believe that she was reflecting on her own childhood and trying to find the right palliative words for me. Her white parents adopted her along with five other black and mixed race children back in the sixties. Raised in a rural township about an hour south of Minneapolis, I’ve heard her stories about the casual slurs hurled against her and my aunts and uncles; the drive by “Hey n-words!” and the bricks through their windows. I know the stories are painful for her but at the same time she never dwells on them because she doesn’t want me to. Still these stories make me feel connected to the struggle our people have endured, knowing my mother went through more foul prejudice daily than I’ve ever witnessed. My mother laughed as she came up with an answer to my desperate question, “because I wanted to have cute little black bunnies”. I didn’t really understand what she meant so I spilled what was on my mind. I told her how I felt I didn’t quite belong with the white or the black kids at school. So she told me, “Then be your own person”.
I took her words to heart. I rejected what I thought would make me “normal” and decided to embrace my academic side. I decided that if that made me an “oreo”, then so be it. I entered into the high performance program at my high school and met some of the best, most loving and intellectually challenging friends I’ve ever had. My dedication to school allowed me to attend the University of ----, a private college where I was plunged into the opposite experience of my junior high. Though at times I felt like a fish out of water being one of very few African-American students on campus, I had learned to be confident in myself. I truly feel that the best way to move past those feelings of isolation is to let the color of your skin be the last thing to define you. While it is there, and it means something, everyone is much more than just their race. And I know now how important it is to pursue your own interests while not caring a bit what others might think or say.
Over time I realized that my mother didn’t quite fit any given mold either. She isn’t much like her parents, or her siblings. While they tend to be aggressive, domineering and outspoken; she is quieter, more sensitive and a great listener; qualities I find in myself. I also adopted her workaholic gene. Cashiering, cooking, washing dishes, and brewing coffee I worked near full-time throughout my college career, paying for my rent and personal expenses. I will admit that I often rued her absences growing up. She was constantly working and that left me and my brother alone a lot. At times I felt it was because she wanted to keep her distance. I didn’t fully understand the position my father’s departure put her in. Later I learned she was only gone because she had to be. It was not the pursuit of money she was after, but a modestly comfortable life for her family. Though we were not able to be together as much as I wanted, I will always value her strength how she taught me to be an individual.
I was born in the hospital of a nondescript suburb in Minnesota, about a half an hour north of Minneapolis. I remember growing up in a lower income apartment complex and asking my mother “Are we poor?” I remember her telling me, “No, we’re not” but that how much money you have doesn’t matter. As I grew older and we moved from apartments to townhouses back to apartments again, I realized that we weren’t poor - just not particularly privileged. My mother raised me and my older brother on her own; providing for us by working overnights and double shifts at a nursing home and then a hospital. We were two boys largely placed under a latch-key, with little supervision as we came into adolescence. Still my mother managed to imbue into us significant lessons about personal responsibility and individuality. She likes to tell me that we’re her retirement plan and I have no intention of letting her down.
Despite the near-constant changing of scenery, I managed to stay focused in school. My grades were good enough that my mother became set on sending me to a private school where she believed my academic mind could flourish. But sitting in the admissions offices with those other children I always felt a creeping inferior feeling. They had newer clothes, their parents drove nicer cars and they had skin of a different hue. My background made me question whether I would fit into the mold of the elite schools my mother brought me to. Out of fear, I decided to flunk the placement tests and essentially force my way into public school, where I thought I would feel normal and more comfortable.
Because of re-districting I ended up going to one of the poorest performing junior highs in the state. It was a rude awakening for me, never having been around so many people of my own color before. In junior high I learned what an “oreo” was and that it meant me: white on the inside and black on the outside. I felt trapped between two races. Culturally, I identified more with my white friends and my mother’s white adoptive parents. But racially, I was undeniably black.
I remember asking my mother (who is bi-racial) why she decided to have children with a black man. She stood silently, stunned for a moment. I now believe that she was reflecting on her own childhood and trying to find the right palliative words for me. Her white parents adopted her along with five other black and mixed race children back in the sixties. Raised in a rural township about an hour south of Minneapolis, I’ve heard her stories about the casual slurs hurled against her and my aunts and uncles; the drive by “Hey n-words!” and the bricks through their windows. I know the stories are painful for her but at the same time she never dwells on them because she doesn’t want me to. Still these stories make me feel connected to the struggle our people have endured, knowing my mother went through more foul prejudice daily than I’ve ever witnessed. My mother laughed as she came up with an answer to my desperate question, “because I wanted to have cute little black bunnies”. I didn’t really understand what she meant so I spilled what was on my mind. I told her how I felt I didn’t quite belong with the white or the black kids at school. So she told me, “Then be your own person”.
I took her words to heart. I rejected what I thought would make me “normal” and decided to embrace my academic side. I decided that if that made me an “oreo”, then so be it. I entered into the high performance program at my high school and met some of the best, most loving and intellectually challenging friends I’ve ever had. My dedication to school allowed me to attend the University of ----, a private college where I was plunged into the opposite experience of my junior high. Though at times I felt like a fish out of water being one of very few African-American students on campus, I had learned to be confident in myself. I truly feel that the best way to move past those feelings of isolation is to let the color of your skin be the last thing to define you. While it is there, and it means something, everyone is much more than just their race. And I know now how important it is to pursue your own interests while not caring a bit what others might think or say.
Over time I realized that my mother didn’t quite fit any given mold either. She isn’t much like her parents, or her siblings. While they tend to be aggressive, domineering and outspoken; she is quieter, more sensitive and a great listener; qualities I find in myself. I also adopted her workaholic gene. Cashiering, cooking, washing dishes, and brewing coffee I worked near full-time throughout my college career, paying for my rent and personal expenses. I will admit that I often rued her absences growing up. She was constantly working and that left me and my brother alone a lot. At times I felt it was because she wanted to keep her distance. I didn’t fully understand the position my father’s departure put her in. Later I learned she was only gone because she had to be. It was not the pursuit of money she was after, but a modestly comfortable life for her family. Though we were not able to be together as much as I wanted, I will always value her strength how she taught me to be an individual.