Failing Is Not Being a Failure: My Short-Lived Marriage (Coursework Sample)

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Failing Is Not Being a Failure: My Short-Lived Marriage
When Will Smith slapped Chris Rock last night at the Oscars for joking about his wife’s alopecia, it reminded me of my failed marriage. I thought growing up as the only black child in a predominantly white neighborhood adopted by a white family taught me all I needed to survive tough times. However, it did not. None of it prepared me for being married at 22 to a 24-year-old black young man with a drinking problem and gang affiliations.
Jerome and I first met at the local bowling alley. As the only two black kids in the neighborhood, we quickly hit it off. Soon after, I found myself in a more serious relationship than even the one I had with my adopted parents. Accordingly, when Jerome proposed to me eight months later, I said a resounding yes. However, it was not long before all hell broke loose. One night, about three months into our marriage, I found hotel receipts in his bomber jacket pockets, gang-affiliated paraphernalia, and a gun. Like any sane woman, I confronted him about it. He responded by going off on me and hitting me! An hour later, our apartment was crawling with police, but luckily, he had a permit for the gun. At this moment, I knew our marriage was done. I had failed in my goal of being a married woman raising a family, and growing old with my husband. The pain of it nearly broke me.
If my ill-fated marriage taught