Walking Home I was raised in a good a neighborhood. A neighborhood were people watched other peoples kids to make sure they did not get into trouble or hurt themselves. I didnt even hear of people getting beat up or get hurt because of the color of their skin. My parents taught me not to judge a book by its cover or in other words not to judge a person by the color of their skin but to judge a person by who they are in the inside. When I got to middle school someone told me about Cracker Day. He told me that it was the last day of the school year and was when African Americans beat on the white kids. At the time I thought it was myth or something you tell a new guy on campus to scare them.
That all changed when I got to seventh grade. It was the last day of school and it had just rained, it was moist in the air. I was walking my girlfriend Missy home. She was in eighth grade at the time and she was almost perfect. She was great looking and popular, funny but she wasnt to smart. When I got to her house she gave me my first french kiss.
I was the happiest I had ever been. I felt like I was on top of the world and nothing could bring me down or at least I said goodbye and started walking home. I walked about a mile when I a notice a car that passed me by slowly a few times. It followed me for a couple of more blocks. Then it came to a stop and I looked around to see if anyone was around. There was no one and then I got real scared.
I started walking faster. Four African Americans kids who are older and bigger than me got out of the car and started walking my way. Just when I was about to take off running, I heard one of the one say, Lets get the cracker! I took off running but I wasnt fast enough to get away. One of them grabbed me and hit me so hard that I hit the ground. They all surrounded me and stared calling me names like Cracker but I didnt hear them because I was too scared. I stared yelling but they said they would hurt me more if I didnt shut up. The only clear thought that I had was I am going to die. I remember them kicking me and hitting me.
The Essay on A Soldiers Home Life Time Story
The short story, "Soldier's Home," by Ernest Hemingway proves to us that the setting someone lives in usually influences theme of a story. This story goes into a time when things were much different than today and society wasn't as unpredictable as it seems this day in age. In one sense we can see this young man's whole life being over at the early age of 19, stuck with having to repeat the same ...
Then I got knock out or I passed out because I was so scared. The next thing I can recall is, that I was in the hospital with a broken arm and stitches on my chin. The cops told me how lucky I was that someone had called and told them what was happening to me. Then they asked me did I know why the kids did this to me? I didnt know until I really thought about it for a while. Then it just it hit like a pile of brinks. It was simple, they beat me up because I was white. All four guys went to jail for a year.
For a few mouths after that, I never walk home alone and it was real rare that you saw me alone anywhere outside, always afraid it might happen again. Feeling insecure where ever I went until it finally dawned on me that not every person thought the way those four guys do and there are a lot of really good people out there. I also learned that day that dont matter how good your neighborhood is or what your parents teach you, there will always be racism and there is very little you can do to stop the way they think. I learned that racism come in every color. The most important lesson I learned was never to judge a person by the color of there skin.
