People looked at me and saw nothing but grief and sadness. They started being careful about what they said around me because they just saw me as a grieving teenager who had just lost her mother and didn't want to say anything to make things worse. When I came back to school a few weeks after his death, I knew in the back of my mind that things would be different for a while. My cousin Bryce returned to school before me, so I knew he was seen as the boy who had recently lost his aunt and that I, too, would be looked at differently. People I had never spoken to in my entire life were contacting me, all because my label had become Abby, the girl whose mother died in high school. I hate when people change the way they relate to me because my identity towards them has changed. I should not be treated differently because of how others view me, I should be able to be identified as I wish. Every human being is labeled in one way or another, some are labeled however they want, but most are given a label that they cannot get rid of. After being one of the unlucky people to be labeled as something they don't want to be labeled, because I have a different way of looking at people. In our English 110 class, we read a story that I felt I could empathize with. In the story Black Men In Public Space, there was a young black man who was labeled dangerous because of his color and appearance. “It was also made clear that I was indistinguishable from the attackers who occasionally infiltrated the area from the surrounding ghetto” (Staples page 135). He doesn't want people to be afraid of him, he has done everything in his power to appear harmless. Not because he wasn't harmless, but because he was perceived and identified as something he wasn't and didn't want to be. As a society, we should be ashamed of our quickness to judge people. We should let people show us what they