The day I stepped foot in this country seemed like a new beginning for my family. The date was June 24, 1994, and we arrived in Chicago, Illinois. I was eight years old with absolutely no knowledge that the English alphabet existed. I did not prepare myself for any of America’s culture; especially not for the way some people treated me. I thought that the night before I started school was the scariest day of my life, but my worst nightmare had not even begun yet. Although I was eight-and-a-half years old, I started school as a second grader.
That first year of school in Madison, Wisconsin was a pleasant experience-at least, I thought so. When third grade came, my perspective changed as a dark cloud came over my world. Once I learned a little bit of English to get myself around and to understand what others said, I realized that what came out of everyone’s mouth was not as nice as I thought it was. One of the most unforgettable days that changed my perspective forever was in December of 1995. The sky was clear, stars were glittering in the night sky, but the temperature seemed to be ten below.
Sitting next to my bedroom window, I cried and sobbed quietly looking out into space; I did not want to go back to school. I wished I would never have learned that “little bit” of English to understand what others were saying because I couldn’t say anything back except “Stop it! ” If I didn’t know what they were saying, then maybe they would sound nice and respectful. I felt sad and angry at myself all at once because I felt so stupid, so pathetic, and so hopeless. “Knock! Knock! ” My mom was at the door asking if I was asleep yet. I didn’t answer her because after a rough day at school, I didn’t want to talk about what had happened.
Lying there in the dark, I wondered why it took my parents so long to decide to come to the United States. “If only we have come when I was little, I would be a lot smarter. ” I said to myself. So many thoughts and feelings raced through my mind that I kept thinking and feeling sorry for myself until I fell asleep on my tear-soaked pillow. The next morning, the sound of my mom’s voice woke me up, “Lee, time to get up. It’s seven o’ clock. ” As soon as I heard, I quickly got up to look outside. A blanket of snow covered everything. It was still snowing, but the snow didn’t look pretty at all.
The snow was coming down so fast, it looked like white bullets shooting from the sky. It was definitely not the kind I could build a snowman with. “My second winter,” I thought to myself as fears of another day on the bus slowly came upon me. I slowly walked to my bedroom closet and got dressed. On my way to the bus stop, I spotted my “so-called” cousins across the street. I prayed and hope that they wouldn’t see me. “Hey, you stupid chicken! ” I heard someone called across the street. I just kept walking and pretended not to hear them. “You stupid B! Don’t be so deaf just because you are scared of us!
You dumb charcoal, why are you so dark? ” When I was about a block away, I looked back and just as I did, a snowball smacked me in the face so hard I lost my balance and fell on the icy sidewalk. I felt dirt in my mouth and started to spit the dirt out. My face felt like someone had just hit me with a baseball bat. I tried not to cry, but my eyes filled up with tears. I looked up and saw Linzi-the oldest of the sisters. She was tall with short black hair and evil brown eyes. Her mouth seemed so small for such big nasty words to have come out. She was in the seventh grade.
