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Share culture, ponder perspectives, embrace uniqueness.

Hunter Curry,
Laguna Niguel, CA

I am white, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have culture. My father is from Canada, and my mother is from Germany, and both immigrated to the US in 2000. They built everything they have from nothing, no generational wealth. I am strongly connected to my German culture and thoroughly enjoy discovering what other cultures have to offer, whether it be through cuisine, dance, or practices. We as Americans need to be more openminded and recognize that culture is here to share, and that plenty of people are more than happy to share their traditions and experiences, if you are welcoming and genuinely curious to expand your cultural knowledge.

I welcome diversity and shun suffocation

Kacie
Vancouver, WA

I grew up in a very white area of the U.S. and still at 23 years old, I’ve had very few friends of different races or lifestyles. Only within the last year have I learned a lot about a different race (Hispanic culture, particularly Mexican) and it has been the most eye opening year. I believe we need to share our stories more.

We Share The Same Last Name

E R Leathers
Emerville, CA

Each and every Sunday, after attending church, my four sisters and I would head to downtown Raleigh. Sometimes we stopped to played in Moore Square before walking on to the Capitol Building. We would climb those life size statues of Presidents and forgotten war heroes. Our Sunday dresses suffered, while our imagination drove those bronze horses deep inside enemy lines and back! But even good soldiers grow weary, so we would head to the Legislative Building on Jones Street.

This was my favorite building to visit. On one particular Sunday, as we entered, young woman approached us. She had an easy smiled with lots of questions for me. I guess I gave the best answers any 12 year old girl could give, because she offered us a tour of the actual chambers! Talk about excitement. First she said, I had to sign the guest book. Then she opened the roped-off section of red carpeted-steps, leading all of us upward.

We had already exchanged names and she made sure to include each of us as she explained each room or pointed out names of faces in fancy picture frames. It was only after we were sitting in the gallery – above the assembly area that I noticed her last name. It was surprisingly, my last name! I actually did a double take. I mean this had never happened to me. A White person and I have the same last name? I was indeed puzzled as to how this was even possible. She didn’t after all look like family. Never mind that she was so smiling nice. I was, by this time, inside my head, way pass wondering and yes, I even wished that we be related.

When she finished explaining whatever she was explaining, I mentioned it to her, this of course leads her to ask more and more questions. Whats your Fathers name? Your grandfather? Your Mother? Where do you live. How old are you? These questions are asked as she leads us out of the room, then down the stairs- and out the building. I found it strange that when we traveled back there, Elizabeth was no longer there. Whatever connection I felt dissolved over time and I lost favor for visiting the building.

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