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
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