When asked the question," What does America mean to me?", I am immediately confused. Why would this question be asked knowing that each student writing the essay would answer in the same manner. Instead of continuing to question the motives, I decide to just write the essay, which proved harder than anything I had ever done. My mind was consumed with thoughts as I realized that this essay would teach me more about myself than any essay written in my four years of high school. I had to make a decision, would I; sugarcoat my thoughts, be brutally honest, or would I write something that I knew the readers would enjoy. I had to choose between what I have felt for most of my eighteen years and what would please the reader. If I was thinking coherently, I would have chosen to make the reader happy but my mother's teaching of honesty was clearer. Unfortunately for you, the reader, or maybe me, the writer, I decide to be brutally honest.
America has always been known as the land of the free and the home of the brave, but lately America has taken on a somewhat different meaning for me. The whole 9/11 ordeal has given me a new insight, a new reason to be utterly ashamed of the country that I call home. Of course admitting that probably gives you, the reader, about twenty different reasons to pass negative judgment on me. Before you condemn me and place my paper in the nearest trashcan, hear me out. The creation of America was for the sole purpose of finding a place to be free and equal. Those that rushed to the "New Country" were in search of a better place, a new beginning where they could be their selves. This country has always been known for an assortment of things, one being its tolerance for different religions, races, and cultures. This tolerance of such diversity has earned the country the nickname of being a melting pot. America's diversity has long been an attraction for various people of different backgrounds.