Personal Narrative: The Black Lives Matter Movement

Growing up I was the most naive child around. I thought the world was full of sunshine and rainbows and that everyone was nice to one another. My parents raised me to remember the three b’s: be nice, be respectful and behave. They told me I could be whatever I wanted to be and I believed that for a very long time until I hit middle school. I didn't know I was different. I didn't see a difference between myself and the other kids but in fact, I am a minority. I didn't know that race was a thing until we took one month out of the nine in which school was in session and learned about slavery. That's when I was introduced to the word that haunted my ancestors and will eventually haunt me. The word was a product of hatred that white people made to boost their
No white teen whose has lived in the suburbs all their life will ever understand what it's like to struggle, what it's like to be racially profiled at work at the age of fourteen. To turn on the tv and see another unarmed black person shot and killed for no reason and seeing people dilute the black lives matter movement. The same people who blame a whole religion for 9/11, want to dilute a movement. The black lives matter movement is a message saying that we understand that all lives matter but police officers can kill whomever they want because they are never held accountable. In those moments, I am filled with anger from my head to my toes. I don't want my nieces and nephews grow up in fear of their lives. I don't want my brother to ever experience police brutality but I can't promise him that. I can't promise my future kids and grandchildren that they will grow up in a world without hate and fear of those who are different than us. Some black teenagers don't even make it to this age, let alone graduate high school. I am forever grateful for my struggles. I am grateful for the teachers who believed in me when I didn't believe in