Alienated: Growing Up in South Central Los Angeles

Growing up in Los Angeles, I attended Garfield High School in East Los Angeles, starting in the 10th grade. The high school was located in a Hispanic area and was attended by a predominately Hispanic population. There were a few of us that were not Hispanic, but the first year I attended Garfield High School I was the only Caucasian student in a student body of around 5,000 students. I was treated different by many of the students because I was different. I did not speak very much Spanish and was not too knowledgeable of the culture of the school and the students.

The first year of high school was a transition in itself and coupled with that I had to try and "fit in" to a school where I was viewed, at least at first, as "sticking out". Some of the Hispanic students made fun of the way I dressed and called me "honkie". At lunch time I ate by myself since the one time I tried to sit at a table with others, I had half the table get up and move while the other half slid down away from me.

During the first year of high school I became more withdrawn and often had thoughts of transferring to another school or of "correcting the problem" by taking me out of the picture altogether. With students treating me as if there was some strange disease that I had, I even went so far as to have thoughts of killing myself.

Finally, after about one and a half months into the school year someone was "brave enough" to talk to me and we found out that there was really not much of a difference between us and soon became best friends. A few of this brave soul's friends started talking to me and we found a common band that brought us together, feeling like an outsider. How, I asked myself, could we be different, yet be the same? Skin color and languages were the only real differences, but the similarities were far greater in number.

If high school was not enough, I also did not live in the area of the high school, but was bused in from another area, South Central Los Angeles, where I was a member of the only Caucasian family in the neighborhood. I was treated as different not only at high school, but also in my own neighborhood. Many of the African Americans in the neighborhood felt that I did not have a right to live in "their" neighborhood. I was often told "whitey go home", even though I was at home.

Tensions were still high after the riot, which resulted from what happened to Rodney King, the police that beat him getting away with the beating, and the way the people in the community felt let down yet again. I lived only a 10 minute drive from where that started. The results of the riot made it to my front door. Seeing neighbors bringing home their spoils of the riot and seeing the scramble to get rid of the stolen merchandise when the riot was over and the police started arresting people for what happened during the riot.

The resolution for the issues at high school outgrew themselves after the one "brave soul" was able to breakdown the walls that were built between us and take a chance of talking to me and having others possibly alienating him as well. Others followed in the three years I attended Garfield and with a student body of nearly 5,000 I was glad that the barriers were able to be torn down or else the experience of high school might have been a very difficult time in my life with everything else going on back home in a neighborhood where I felt I did not belong in as well.

Back in my neighborhood, I did end up making some friends with neighbors and at least in part to the walls being torn down in high school was admired by some of the children in my neighborhood because of the way I carried myself, not looking at the differences, but realizing that there are far too many similarities to ignore in the process. Looking past the skin color difference, I and others in my neighborhood were able to realize that not all people with a certain skin color think or act the same. I felt that what happened to result in the riot was wrong and that the police deserved jail time for the actions they took. Also, I realized that not all African Americans were against me living in the area, especially after they discovered that I was in the same financial situation as many in the area, strapped for cash all the time.

Our similarities were what ended up bringing us together and we simply recognized the differences that were present, dismissed them, and moved on with those things that really mattered for young people, having fun and at times being in conflict with what our families wanted for us to be doing.