Friday, March 14, 2008
My Choices, My Work, My Reasons--A Reflection Paper
Welcome to my looking glass!
When someone asks me to describe myself, it always gives me pause to consider what my nebulous reflection might look like to the one asking. I can say that I am a 51 year-old mother of 5, but that always makes me feel like I am just spouting statistics and sharing very little of myself. Telling the questioner that I have been a breeder of working line German Shepherds for well over 16 years tells them a little about my career and perhaps allows them some material for imagining the typical tasks of each of my days, but that answer scarcely comes close to encompassing even half of who I am. I might say I was married for just shy of 30 years, and add, too, that I recently sought and obtained a divorce. Unfortunately, those two facts might send a confusing message, and besides, they seem to beg more questions than I am probably willing to answer. I might, too, share that I have returned to college after an absence of several decades to get my degree in Entrepreneurship. Along that line, I could point out that this degree is helping me to shore up my business and ensure that I can continue to support my family for the long term, not just for the here and now.
Furthermore, I could offer to the inquirer a brief family history—I came from a very loving, close-knit Dutch family and want to pass on that heritage of family strength to my own children. For a spiritual description, I might confess my ardent, but necessarily flawed Christian faith—I am one who tries hard to live by the Golden Rule, but ends up stumbling far more than I would like. Certainly, I can go the route of current family events and use that as a springboard for self-description; I could share that just two weeks ago, I found out that both of my daughters are going to be married in the next 6 months. But at most, while providing a clue to both my current emotional and mental state, those details reveal little else. All of these things are true about me, but because human beings are by nature multifaceted, I realize the impossibility of simplifying my whole self into a couple sentences. However, by uniting all these little sentences, understated and perhaps even statistical as they may be, I can hope that those seeking a glimpse of ‘me’ will find some reward.
I long looked forward to taking English 101-D. I find that people either passionately love to write, or they hate it vehemently. I fall into the first category. I have always written, and always will write, with or without an audience. It sounds terribly dramatic, but I write because I must. The difficult part for me is not in the writing itself, but in learning to write well. Through the guidance of our instructors and the course discussion boards, I have learned to read the words of others, as well as my own, with a more critical eye. I have learned to construct a strong thesis statement, as well as the means to support it. I have also learned that submitting your written offering for public perusal is not quite the same thing as throwing yourself in front of a fast moving train. Well, not quite.
Identity, community, and traditions were the 3 topics I did not expect to find waiting for me under class assignments. I had expected to see outsiders, outcasts, and outlaws, as listed in the course description. What I discovered, however, after getting into the meat and potatoes of the class, is that the study of outsiders, outcasts, and outlaws is an excellent way to get a fix on identity, community, and traditions. Sometimes studying the exceptions clarifies the rules better than studying the rules themselves, and as in this case, it certainly provides greater enjoyment.
Taking this diversity class has taught me a good deal about the impact our communities have on helping to define our individuality. Community is the platform behind which we hide, upon which we stand, or from which we launch. Response to community relies upon us, but how we are defined rests ultimately with others—with our community. Further, this diversity class showed me that a person can be defined equally by a lack of community—in other words, by being an outcast—as by having one, and that the results can be equally as devastating. I have also come to understand that tradition often creates a filter through which we live our lives and influences the success of our connection to our present and past communities. For, tradition bridges our past, present, and future communities.
I hope that you enjoy my portfolio. I hope that at the end of your walk through this collection of papers, you take away at least a little understanding of who I am--and maybe a little better understanding of who you are too.
When someone asks me to describe myself, it always gives me pause to consider what my nebulous reflection might look like to the one asking. I can say that I am a 51 year-old mother of 5, but that always makes me feel like I am just spouting statistics and sharing very little of myself. Telling the questioner that I have been a breeder of working line German Shepherds for well over 16 years tells them a little about my career and perhaps allows them some material for imagining the typical tasks of each of my days, but that answer scarcely comes close to encompassing even half of who I am. I might say I was married for just shy of 30 years, and add, too, that I recently sought and obtained a divorce. Unfortunately, those two facts might send a confusing message, and besides, they seem to beg more questions than I am probably willing to answer. I might, too, share that I have returned to college after an absence of several decades to get my degree in Entrepreneurship. Along that line, I could point out that this degree is helping me to shore up my business and ensure that I can continue to support my family for the long term, not just for the here and now.
Furthermore, I could offer to the inquirer a brief family history—I came from a very loving, close-knit Dutch family and want to pass on that heritage of family strength to my own children. For a spiritual description, I might confess my ardent, but necessarily flawed Christian faith—I am one who tries hard to live by the Golden Rule, but ends up stumbling far more than I would like. Certainly, I can go the route of current family events and use that as a springboard for self-description; I could share that just two weeks ago, I found out that both of my daughters are going to be married in the next 6 months. But at most, while providing a clue to both my current emotional and mental state, those details reveal little else. All of these things are true about me, but because human beings are by nature multifaceted, I realize the impossibility of simplifying my whole self into a couple sentences. However, by uniting all these little sentences, understated and perhaps even statistical as they may be, I can hope that those seeking a glimpse of ‘me’ will find some reward.
I long looked forward to taking English 101-D. I find that people either passionately love to write, or they hate it vehemently. I fall into the first category. I have always written, and always will write, with or without an audience. It sounds terribly dramatic, but I write because I must. The difficult part for me is not in the writing itself, but in learning to write well. Through the guidance of our instructors and the course discussion boards, I have learned to read the words of others, as well as my own, with a more critical eye. I have learned to construct a strong thesis statement, as well as the means to support it. I have also learned that submitting your written offering for public perusal is not quite the same thing as throwing yourself in front of a fast moving train. Well, not quite.
Identity, community, and traditions were the 3 topics I did not expect to find waiting for me under class assignments. I had expected to see outsiders, outcasts, and outlaws, as listed in the course description. What I discovered, however, after getting into the meat and potatoes of the class, is that the study of outsiders, outcasts, and outlaws is an excellent way to get a fix on identity, community, and traditions. Sometimes studying the exceptions clarifies the rules better than studying the rules themselves, and as in this case, it certainly provides greater enjoyment.
Taking this diversity class has taught me a good deal about the impact our communities have on helping to define our individuality. Community is the platform behind which we hide, upon which we stand, or from which we launch. Response to community relies upon us, but how we are defined rests ultimately with others—with our community. Further, this diversity class showed me that a person can be defined equally by a lack of community—in other words, by being an outcast—as by having one, and that the results can be equally as devastating. I have also come to understand that tradition often creates a filter through which we live our lives and influences the success of our connection to our present and past communities. For, tradition bridges our past, present, and future communities.
I hope that you enjoy my portfolio. I hope that at the end of your walk through this collection of papers, you take away at least a little understanding of who I am--and maybe a little better understanding of who you are too.
Introduction to "Lone Star; Toppling a Taboo"
Critical Thinking: For this category, I chose my Intermission Two: Timed Writing Assignment, “Lone Star: Toppling a Taboo.” This paper works well for critical thinking because the movie possesses many different undercurrents running at the same time, which only careful consideration can bring fully to the surface. While it is possible to watch from the surface and still enjoy the movie, digging deeper and seeing where and how the movies led you along, yields a richer result. The movie meticulously prepares you to deal with the final thrust of the film, one which might be unduly rejected without all that careful preparation. During the timed write, I focused my writing on three different scenes where such leading took place. First, I comment on Pilar’s statement to Sam that she cannot bear any more children: “By eliminating this concern, Lone Star strips the taboo of incest down to its undergarments. We are left to debate whether, when genetic strength poses no problem, incest is a concern at all.”
Lone Star: Toppling a Taboo
The film Lone Star, through its character and plot development, placed me in the uncomfortable position of considering the moral reality of incest: wrong or right? I had always assumed incest to be wrong, without reservation. However, the film and our group discussion of this film revealed that, under certain circumstances, incest was not as dangerous or twisted as I had always assumed.
If we are going to challenge our social norms and taboos concerning incest, then one of our considerations must involve the definition of what constitutes a blood relationship to another individual. Aside from the physical implications, does blood relationship also imply a significant emotional or spiritual tie to someone to whom we are closely related but with whom we were not raised? Lone Star endeavors to answer this question midway through the film in a scene between Chet Payne and Otis Payne. Chet learns from his grandfather that his family possesses not only an African Americans heritage, but also a Cherokee one. Chet asks his Grandfather, “So I’m part Indian?” His grandfather’s replies, “By blood you are. But blood only means what you let it.” The grandfather’s statement here encourages the film’s audience to rethink not only the significance of blood relationship, but also its definition.
Lone Star further challenges typical conceptions of incest by debating the assumption of physical and mental deformity or weaknesses resulting in offspring from close genetic relationship. The film navigates this possible stumbling block by eliminating it altogether. Pilar tells Sam they do not have to worry about physical deformity because she cannot bear children due to a physical crisis from years ago: procreation is impossible. In truth, genetic strength is the pivotal concern of most communities for which incest is a taboo. By eliminating this concern, Lone Star strips the taboo of incest down to its undergarments. We are left to debate whether, when genetic strength poses no problem, incest is a concern at all.
Mickey and Cliff’s discussion regarding Cliff’s determination to marry an African American Sergeant with whom he works on the base, though he is white, also asks the audience to challenge the incest taboo. Mickey asks Cliff, “Think her family’s gonna be okay that you’re a white guy?” Cliff responds, “They think any woman over thirty who isn’t married is a lesbian. She figures, they’ll be so relieved that I’m a man.” Mickey response proves telling: “Yeah, it’s always heartwarming to see a prejudice defeated by a deeper prejudice.” The audience first wonders how Sam and Pilar will overcome the racial segregation of their community, but in the end, this non-conformity pales in comparison to the real social challenge, which is incest.
A real propensity exists to accept the social restrictions our surrounding communities place on us. Lone Star does an excellent job of questioning issues which not only evoke discomfort, but which also appear black and white to its audience. Through masterful character development, and careful plot leading, we find ourselves pulling for Sam and Pilar to renew their relationship, despite the biases against the taboo of incest which we initially brought to the film. On the issue of incest, there are many different facets and no simple answers.
If we are going to challenge our social norms and taboos concerning incest, then one of our considerations must involve the definition of what constitutes a blood relationship to another individual. Aside from the physical implications, does blood relationship also imply a significant emotional or spiritual tie to someone to whom we are closely related but with whom we were not raised? Lone Star endeavors to answer this question midway through the film in a scene between Chet Payne and Otis Payne. Chet learns from his grandfather that his family possesses not only an African Americans heritage, but also a Cherokee one. Chet asks his Grandfather, “So I’m part Indian?” His grandfather’s replies, “By blood you are. But blood only means what you let it.” The grandfather’s statement here encourages the film’s audience to rethink not only the significance of blood relationship, but also its definition.
Lone Star further challenges typical conceptions of incest by debating the assumption of physical and mental deformity or weaknesses resulting in offspring from close genetic relationship. The film navigates this possible stumbling block by eliminating it altogether. Pilar tells Sam they do not have to worry about physical deformity because she cannot bear children due to a physical crisis from years ago: procreation is impossible. In truth, genetic strength is the pivotal concern of most communities for which incest is a taboo. By eliminating this concern, Lone Star strips the taboo of incest down to its undergarments. We are left to debate whether, when genetic strength poses no problem, incest is a concern at all.
Mickey and Cliff’s discussion regarding Cliff’s determination to marry an African American Sergeant with whom he works on the base, though he is white, also asks the audience to challenge the incest taboo. Mickey asks Cliff, “Think her family’s gonna be okay that you’re a white guy?” Cliff responds, “They think any woman over thirty who isn’t married is a lesbian. She figures, they’ll be so relieved that I’m a man.” Mickey response proves telling: “Yeah, it’s always heartwarming to see a prejudice defeated by a deeper prejudice.” The audience first wonders how Sam and Pilar will overcome the racial segregation of their community, but in the end, this non-conformity pales in comparison to the real social challenge, which is incest.
A real propensity exists to accept the social restrictions our surrounding communities place on us. Lone Star does an excellent job of questioning issues which not only evoke discomfort, but which also appear black and white to its audience. Through masterful character development, and careful plot leading, we find ourselves pulling for Sam and Pilar to renew their relationship, despite the biases against the taboo of incest which we initially brought to the film. On the issue of incest, there are many different facets and no simple answers.
Introduction to "Community: Laying the Foundation"
Revision: I chose my Community Paper, “Community: Laying the Foundation for Our Future” because I believe that I had the start of a good paper, but I very obviously got lost in the bigness of the piece and floundered. I wanted to redeem the paper from its unsatisfactory state of being and to help it along, giving it the ability to stand on its own merit.
Before English 101D, I had never before used the discussion boards to post a work in progress, but I have found that they are a wonderful tool! I have had the benefit of my fellow classmates’ and instructors’ insights, encouragement, and criticism so that I gain not only a better paper, but also a better perspective. The discussion boards helped me to see things in new ways and to develop both my insight and analysis. These growing skills helped me to write and revise this paper.
In the Community Unit, we were to write a 3-4 page paper that affirms or challenges one of the chapter’s three assumptions:
a. Communities provide us with a sense of stability
b. Communities serve our needs
c. Communities accept us for who we are
I chose to affirm the statement that communities provide us with a sense of stability.
Once I chose this paper for the revision, I took a long, hard look at what needed the most attention. I then set about tackling the least supportive paragraph (paragraph #3). I eliminated my too broad—and not very supportable—topic sentence and replaced it with the next sentence which had a much more narrow focus and was easier to support. I then added a number of sentences to the end of that paragraph to help tie it into my thesis statement, something that I had neglected to do originally. I also had to rewrite the ending sentence of the paragraph #4 for the same reason: it was too broad and did not tie in. Oh, and in case you do not recognize a pattern here, I had to do the same thing for paragraph #5. If nothing else, this revision has taught me to pay as much attention to an ending sentence as to the topic sentence! I also gladly removed a couple of scattered clichés to restore my paper’s integrity. It felt good to work through this revision. It reminded me of the feeling you get when you come home from a week long camping trip and finish that first, long hot shower: cleaned up!
Before English 101D, I had never before used the discussion boards to post a work in progress, but I have found that they are a wonderful tool! I have had the benefit of my fellow classmates’ and instructors’ insights, encouragement, and criticism so that I gain not only a better paper, but also a better perspective. The discussion boards helped me to see things in new ways and to develop both my insight and analysis. These growing skills helped me to write and revise this paper.
In the Community Unit, we were to write a 3-4 page paper that affirms or challenges one of the chapter’s three assumptions:
a. Communities provide us with a sense of stability
b. Communities serve our needs
c. Communities accept us for who we are
I chose to affirm the statement that communities provide us with a sense of stability.
Once I chose this paper for the revision, I took a long, hard look at what needed the most attention. I then set about tackling the least supportive paragraph (paragraph #3). I eliminated my too broad—and not very supportable—topic sentence and replaced it with the next sentence which had a much more narrow focus and was easier to support. I then added a number of sentences to the end of that paragraph to help tie it into my thesis statement, something that I had neglected to do originally. I also had to rewrite the ending sentence of the paragraph #4 for the same reason: it was too broad and did not tie in. Oh, and in case you do not recognize a pattern here, I had to do the same thing for paragraph #5. If nothing else, this revision has taught me to pay as much attention to an ending sentence as to the topic sentence! I also gladly removed a couple of scattered clichés to restore my paper’s integrity. It felt good to work through this revision. It reminded me of the feeling you get when you come home from a week long camping trip and finish that first, long hot shower: cleaned up!
Community: Laying the Foundation
--The Original--
People might be the most intelligent of all of the creatures on this earth, but they are also some of the most vulnerable. Long ago man learned that the best way to combat that vulnerability was to seek safety in numbers. Not only is it hazardous for one man to stand alone in a physical sense, but the same could be said about standing alone in a social sense. Since man has long huddled together in tribal comfort those who, for various reasons, find themselves outside that inclusion are looked upon with suspect and criticism. Communities give people the opportunity to function without the stress of undue exposure and with the added benefit of having a history of learning to draw upon. This allows an individual more time and energy to grow and develop and then to successfully pass these life skills on to the next generation. Communities are the structure and stability that we build our future upon.
It is imperative that human being be given the opportunity to learn from one another and, whenever possible, to build upon another’s efforts. For we lack instinct to guild us in our survival efforts and must rely instead on the care and teaching garnered from our community. In the Ending Poem, the authors Rosario Morales and Aurora Levins Morales speak of building that foundation one brick at a time when they write, “The table has a cloth woven by one, dyed by another, embroidered by another still. I am a child of many mothers. They have kept it all going all civilizations erected on their backs. All the dinner parties given with their labor” (pg 96). Our communities are not just for our comfort, but they are the pathways to our future.
When we live within a community, we are encouraged to tread onward and upwards by others and by example of their efforts. A single individual, without the emotional or historical support of a community can easily get discouraged during times of hardships. Without tales of how past difficulties are overcome, or without an offer of the occasional helping hand, difficulties loom large and insurmountable. Maya Angelou describes this foundational labor in her essay, Reclaiming Our Home Place. When Angelou speaks of why the South is important to African Americans she writes, “From a past rooted in pain, we rise. Bringing the gifts that our ancestors gave, we are the hope and the dream of the slave” (137). When we feel that we are part of something bigger than ourselves, we feed on that momentum and on those dreams and use it to fuel our forward motion.
There is strength in knowing who we are and a community helps us to define ourselves both in its refection and in its tasks. If we have a better idea of what we are about, what we are capable of and what is expected of us, then we can move to the future with surer steps and a steadier pace. Each day of our lives spent with those we rub shoulders with, builds a clearer image of our own identity. In his essay Blaxicans, Richard Rodriguez suggests that who we are is a conglomerate of our past when he writes, “Mexicans used to say that Mexico, the country of my ancestry, joined two worlds, two competing armies. Jose Vasconcelos, the Mexican educator and philosopher, famously described Mexicans as la raza cosmic, the cosmic race.” (121). He embraces this understanding again when he writes “I come to you as a man of many cultures. I come to you as Chinese. Unless you understand that I am Chinese, then you have not understood anything I have said.” (124). If we are going to fit within our community we need to understand what defines them and then, ultimately, what defines us for then we can recognize our path as well.
I come from a family of hard working, stubborn Dutch Farmers. When my great grandparents arrived from the Netherlands, they came with determination to work as hard as they must to build a good life for their family, as family was their treasure and their wealth. Whether it was breaking sod, toiling in the hot South Dakota sun, or caring for stock in sub-zero cold, they stubbornly did whatever needed to be done to support this family. When the dust bowl decimated my grandfather’s own farm, he packed up his family and belongings into horse drawn wagons, and headed west to find that land of milk and honey. He built a new life for them by leaving the familiar and searching the horizon for hope. He left farming and started a mom and pops grocery, learning new skills, facing new challenges, pouring in a lot of hard work and endless hours. My Father was an entrepreneur and started a video court reporting firm before there was even such a thing in the state of Washington. He had to break new ground, open new doors and work through allot of resistance, but he persisted and his business grew along with his family. When the baton was passed to me, I used that same determination and work ethic to build my own home based business to support my family while allowing me the time and availability to raise them. Whenever I am discouraged or am faced with looming obstacles, I don’t have to look too far to find my bearings and motivation…it is right there in my heritage.
Communities are our foundational structure. We are as stable as it is well laid. It is humbling for some to have to give credit to others in explanation of how and why they arrived where they did, but none of us are an island. My Dutch grandmother would say that soup made with one ingredient lacks interest and flavor but, a soup with many additions is rich and hearty. It is better to give credit to what is obvious and to gratefully share credit for the grand design of our life; for communities are the structures that we build upon and they are often what keep us standing.
--The Revision--
People might be the most intelligent of all of the creatures on this earth, but they are also the most vulnerable. Long ago, humanity learned to combat that vulnerability by seeking safety in numbers. One person alone in a physical sense proves dangerous enough, but standing alone in a social sense also swarms with dangers of its own. Since humankind first huddled together in tribal comfort, those within that comfortable huddle looked upon those without with a mixture of suspicion and criticism. For human community gives people the opportunity to function without the stress of undue exposure and provides the added benefit of a history from which to draw. This history allows an individual within the community more time and energy to develop and then to successfully pass on life skills to the next generation. Community creates the structure and stability upon which our future rests.
Human beings must receive the opportunity to learn from one another and, whenever possible, to build upon the efforts of his or her forbears. Humans lack instinct as a guide in survival and rely instead on the care and teaching garnered from their community. In the “Ending Poem,” authors Rosario Morales and Aurora Levins Morales speak of building that foundation of community one brick at a time when they write, “The table has a cloth woven by one, dyed by another, embroidered by another still. I am a child of many mothers. They have kept it all going all civilizations erected on their backs. All the dinner parties given with their labor” (96). Human communities exist not just for the comfort of one generation, but also for the comfort of those who come after—community is the foundation upon which new generations build.
A single individual, without the emotional or historical support of a community, easily grows discouraged during times of hardship. Without lessons about overcoming past difficulties, or an occasional helping hand, even minor hardships loom large and insurmountable. Maya Angelou describes this foundation of past difficulty and helping hands in her essay, “Reclaiming Our Home Place.” When Angelou speaks of the South’s importance to African Americans, she writes, “From a past rooted in pain, we rise. Bringing the gifts that our ancestors gave, we are the hope and the dream of the slave” (137). When humans feel a part of something bigger, they feed on that momentum, those dreams from the past, and use it to fuel their efforts in the face of adversity. That sense of history and community provides humanity with a sense of stability, even when life seems in shambles.
Strength comes from knowing one’s community, as well as one’s place in that community. Strength exists in possessing a sense of self-identity. If humanity owns the knowledge of its meaning, its capabilities, and the expectations surrounding it, then humanity can move into the future with surer steps and a steadier pace. For, every day one person continues to rub shoulders with another is just one more step to a clearer knowledge of identity. In his essay “Blaxicans,” Richard Rodriguez points to the reality of community being a conglomerate of the present and the past when he writes, “Mexicans used to say that Mexico, the country of my ancestry, joined two worlds, two competing armies. Jose Vasconcelos, the Mexican educator and philosopher, famously described Mexicans as la raza cosmic, the cosmic race” (121). Rodriguez embraces this understanding again when he writes “I come to you as a man of many cultures. I come to you as Chinese. Unless you understand that I am Chinese, then you have not understood anything I have said” (124). Identity relies not only upon past communities, but present communities and experiences as well—the past and the present will become the rich stew for the future. Furthermore, this rich stew of experiences and history will blend together to form the individual of the present—the food of identity and the fuel to feed our future.
I come from a family of hard working, stubborn Dutch farmers. For the Dutch, stubbornness is not a character fault, but a characteristic from the Dutch community that has empowered it. Stubbornness supplies the grit to hang in there and overcome obstacles which might deter other communities in possession of less of this trait. When my great grandparents arrived from the Netherlands, they came with the determination to work as hard as they must to build a good life. Because they came with little, they settled where land was free to those willing to develop it. Whether it was breaking sod, toiling in the hot South Dakota sun, or caring for stock in sub-zero cold, they stubbornly did whatever needed to be done to support the family. When the baton fell into my hands, I utilized that same stubbornness and built my own home-based business to support my family. Whenever I am discouraged, I need not look too far to find my bearings and motivation: it is right there in my heritage. This community gives me a wealth of history and past hardship to encourage my own stubborn grit.
Community constitutes the foundational structure of human life. Some individuals feel too humbled to give credit to others for their success, but no person stands alone, for the human experience is an experience of community membership. As my grandmother would say, “A soup made with one ingredient lacks interest, but a soup with many additions is rich and hearty.” Community, in all its differing manifestations, allows fathers and mothers of the past the opportunity to add their depth and resources to the children of the present. Community constitutes not just the structures upon which we build; they are often the very things that keep us standing.
People might be the most intelligent of all of the creatures on this earth, but they are also some of the most vulnerable. Long ago man learned that the best way to combat that vulnerability was to seek safety in numbers. Not only is it hazardous for one man to stand alone in a physical sense, but the same could be said about standing alone in a social sense. Since man has long huddled together in tribal comfort those who, for various reasons, find themselves outside that inclusion are looked upon with suspect and criticism. Communities give people the opportunity to function without the stress of undue exposure and with the added benefit of having a history of learning to draw upon. This allows an individual more time and energy to grow and develop and then to successfully pass these life skills on to the next generation. Communities are the structure and stability that we build our future upon.
It is imperative that human being be given the opportunity to learn from one another and, whenever possible, to build upon another’s efforts. For we lack instinct to guild us in our survival efforts and must rely instead on the care and teaching garnered from our community. In the Ending Poem, the authors Rosario Morales and Aurora Levins Morales speak of building that foundation one brick at a time when they write, “The table has a cloth woven by one, dyed by another, embroidered by another still. I am a child of many mothers. They have kept it all going all civilizations erected on their backs. All the dinner parties given with their labor” (pg 96). Our communities are not just for our comfort, but they are the pathways to our future.
When we live within a community, we are encouraged to tread onward and upwards by others and by example of their efforts. A single individual, without the emotional or historical support of a community can easily get discouraged during times of hardships. Without tales of how past difficulties are overcome, or without an offer of the occasional helping hand, difficulties loom large and insurmountable. Maya Angelou describes this foundational labor in her essay, Reclaiming Our Home Place. When Angelou speaks of why the South is important to African Americans she writes, “From a past rooted in pain, we rise. Bringing the gifts that our ancestors gave, we are the hope and the dream of the slave” (137). When we feel that we are part of something bigger than ourselves, we feed on that momentum and on those dreams and use it to fuel our forward motion.
There is strength in knowing who we are and a community helps us to define ourselves both in its refection and in its tasks. If we have a better idea of what we are about, what we are capable of and what is expected of us, then we can move to the future with surer steps and a steadier pace. Each day of our lives spent with those we rub shoulders with, builds a clearer image of our own identity. In his essay Blaxicans, Richard Rodriguez suggests that who we are is a conglomerate of our past when he writes, “Mexicans used to say that Mexico, the country of my ancestry, joined two worlds, two competing armies. Jose Vasconcelos, the Mexican educator and philosopher, famously described Mexicans as la raza cosmic, the cosmic race.” (121). He embraces this understanding again when he writes “I come to you as a man of many cultures. I come to you as Chinese. Unless you understand that I am Chinese, then you have not understood anything I have said.” (124). If we are going to fit within our community we need to understand what defines them and then, ultimately, what defines us for then we can recognize our path as well.
I come from a family of hard working, stubborn Dutch Farmers. When my great grandparents arrived from the Netherlands, they came with determination to work as hard as they must to build a good life for their family, as family was their treasure and their wealth. Whether it was breaking sod, toiling in the hot South Dakota sun, or caring for stock in sub-zero cold, they stubbornly did whatever needed to be done to support this family. When the dust bowl decimated my grandfather’s own farm, he packed up his family and belongings into horse drawn wagons, and headed west to find that land of milk and honey. He built a new life for them by leaving the familiar and searching the horizon for hope. He left farming and started a mom and pops grocery, learning new skills, facing new challenges, pouring in a lot of hard work and endless hours. My Father was an entrepreneur and started a video court reporting firm before there was even such a thing in the state of Washington. He had to break new ground, open new doors and work through allot of resistance, but he persisted and his business grew along with his family. When the baton was passed to me, I used that same determination and work ethic to build my own home based business to support my family while allowing me the time and availability to raise them. Whenever I am discouraged or am faced with looming obstacles, I don’t have to look too far to find my bearings and motivation…it is right there in my heritage.
Communities are our foundational structure. We are as stable as it is well laid. It is humbling for some to have to give credit to others in explanation of how and why they arrived where they did, but none of us are an island. My Dutch grandmother would say that soup made with one ingredient lacks interest and flavor but, a soup with many additions is rich and hearty. It is better to give credit to what is obvious and to gratefully share credit for the grand design of our life; for communities are the structures that we build upon and they are often what keep us standing.
--The Revision--
People might be the most intelligent of all of the creatures on this earth, but they are also the most vulnerable. Long ago, humanity learned to combat that vulnerability by seeking safety in numbers. One person alone in a physical sense proves dangerous enough, but standing alone in a social sense also swarms with dangers of its own. Since humankind first huddled together in tribal comfort, those within that comfortable huddle looked upon those without with a mixture of suspicion and criticism. For human community gives people the opportunity to function without the stress of undue exposure and provides the added benefit of a history from which to draw. This history allows an individual within the community more time and energy to develop and then to successfully pass on life skills to the next generation. Community creates the structure and stability upon which our future rests.
Human beings must receive the opportunity to learn from one another and, whenever possible, to build upon the efforts of his or her forbears. Humans lack instinct as a guide in survival and rely instead on the care and teaching garnered from their community. In the “Ending Poem,” authors Rosario Morales and Aurora Levins Morales speak of building that foundation of community one brick at a time when they write, “The table has a cloth woven by one, dyed by another, embroidered by another still. I am a child of many mothers. They have kept it all going all civilizations erected on their backs. All the dinner parties given with their labor” (96). Human communities exist not just for the comfort of one generation, but also for the comfort of those who come after—community is the foundation upon which new generations build.
A single individual, without the emotional or historical support of a community, easily grows discouraged during times of hardship. Without lessons about overcoming past difficulties, or an occasional helping hand, even minor hardships loom large and insurmountable. Maya Angelou describes this foundation of past difficulty and helping hands in her essay, “Reclaiming Our Home Place.” When Angelou speaks of the South’s importance to African Americans, she writes, “From a past rooted in pain, we rise. Bringing the gifts that our ancestors gave, we are the hope and the dream of the slave” (137). When humans feel a part of something bigger, they feed on that momentum, those dreams from the past, and use it to fuel their efforts in the face of adversity. That sense of history and community provides humanity with a sense of stability, even when life seems in shambles.
Strength comes from knowing one’s community, as well as one’s place in that community. Strength exists in possessing a sense of self-identity. If humanity owns the knowledge of its meaning, its capabilities, and the expectations surrounding it, then humanity can move into the future with surer steps and a steadier pace. For, every day one person continues to rub shoulders with another is just one more step to a clearer knowledge of identity. In his essay “Blaxicans,” Richard Rodriguez points to the reality of community being a conglomerate of the present and the past when he writes, “Mexicans used to say that Mexico, the country of my ancestry, joined two worlds, two competing armies. Jose Vasconcelos, the Mexican educator and philosopher, famously described Mexicans as la raza cosmic, the cosmic race” (121). Rodriguez embraces this understanding again when he writes “I come to you as a man of many cultures. I come to you as Chinese. Unless you understand that I am Chinese, then you have not understood anything I have said” (124). Identity relies not only upon past communities, but present communities and experiences as well—the past and the present will become the rich stew for the future. Furthermore, this rich stew of experiences and history will blend together to form the individual of the present—the food of identity and the fuel to feed our future.
I come from a family of hard working, stubborn Dutch farmers. For the Dutch, stubbornness is not a character fault, but a characteristic from the Dutch community that has empowered it. Stubbornness supplies the grit to hang in there and overcome obstacles which might deter other communities in possession of less of this trait. When my great grandparents arrived from the Netherlands, they came with the determination to work as hard as they must to build a good life. Because they came with little, they settled where land was free to those willing to develop it. Whether it was breaking sod, toiling in the hot South Dakota sun, or caring for stock in sub-zero cold, they stubbornly did whatever needed to be done to support the family. When the baton fell into my hands, I utilized that same stubbornness and built my own home-based business to support my family. Whenever I am discouraged, I need not look too far to find my bearings and motivation: it is right there in my heritage. This community gives me a wealth of history and past hardship to encourage my own stubborn grit.
Community constitutes the foundational structure of human life. Some individuals feel too humbled to give credit to others for their success, but no person stands alone, for the human experience is an experience of community membership. As my grandmother would say, “A soup made with one ingredient lacks interest, but a soup with many additions is rich and hearty.” Community, in all its differing manifestations, allows fathers and mothers of the past the opportunity to add their depth and resources to the children of the present. Community constitutes not just the structures upon which we build; they are often the very things that keep us standing.
Introduction to "Thanksgiving Dinner with the Dutch Mafia"
Audience and Voice: I selected my tradition paper for the Audience and Voice piece. I published the paper in my blog under the title “Thanksgiving Dinner with the Dutch Mafia.” When I wrote this offering, I had a very specific audience in mind: I wanted to connect with those who harbored their own fond memories of extended family holiday gatherings. I chose to write this paper from the perspective I remembered best—from the eyes of a 5 year-old. Many of us take mental snapshots from our childhood. It was easy for me to tap into those snapshots and draw out images of my family. I hoped, therefore, that my snapshots would encourage others to draw out their own. The car trip provides an excellent demonstration of my goal: “This was also in the days prior to the use of booster seats and I was too short to see out of any of the windows except to see the telephone poles zipping monotonously by on old Hwy 99.” I wanted to bring out that my family, like most, had their own “odd” traditions. Toward the end of my paper, I steered in that direction more clearly when I wrote, “One oddity (which I never knew was an oddity until I was an adult) is that everyone, and I mean everyone, gets poured just half of a cup of coffee.” By causing my readers to consider their own odd family traditions, I felt I would connect them emotionally to my story. Writing “Thanksgiving Dinner with the Dutch Mafia” proved a challenge to me, just as my other blog piece did. I am unaccustomed to writing from a personal viewpoint, except when speaking to a very limited audience. For this reason, I had to be more aware of my details, so that the reader might easily follow along. However, because of its challenges and connection, I found the piece satisfying to write. The writing of it has definitely altered my opinion of blogging, and I am sure to be doing more of it in the future.
Thanksgiving Dinner with the Dutch Mafia
For my family the third week in November has always meant an exodus to Lynden and a return to our ancestral home and the kith and kin that reside there. Alright, maybe ancestral is pushing it a bit, but certainly the place where our roots have been growing in that rich farmland for close to 70 years. My two sisters and I were always dolled up for these trips in frilly dresses that sported scratchy lace along the hem and sleeves…these features would added their own torture to the miserably long two hour drive North. We sat in the back seat of some old Ford sedan trying to not accidently cross the invisible line of demarcation that would mean instantaneous war if your infringement was noted by either backseat companion. Mom and Dad, innocently oblivious of the health hazard they were inflicting upon us, smoked like chimneys in the front seat the whole trip up…with all of the windows rolled up, of course. Mind you, this was also in the days prior to the use of booster seats and I was too short to see out of any of the windows except to see the telephone poles zipping monotonously by on old Hwy 99.
By the time we arrived in Lynden, I was almost comatose with motion sickness! Dad would open the door and I would stumble out, wanting to kiss the ground, but since it was a dairy farm, I resisted the urge. Surprisingly my sisters were never plagued with being car sick and would read books and work puzzles to pass the time…if I just looked at those things, I would toss my cookies! Once we were out of the car and I was able to stand without wobbling, we were given last minute instruction on “proper behavior of young ladies at family gatherings” and entered the front door to my Dad’s oldest sibling and sister.
Aunt Del would rush from the kitchen the moment we opened the door, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, and she would scoop us into a bear hug before releasing us into the fray that constituted a large…and I mean large…Dutch family gathering! My Dad had 5 siblings and each of them had 4 or 5 children, so when we got together we easily filled the largest farm house. A curiously long table (I later learned it was actually 8 tables) snaked from the dinning room, through the living room and half way into the parlor. Around it was a mix of wooden and metal chairs and even a piano bench or two. All of the tables were covered in starched white table clothes and lined with an assortment of plates, silverware, and Tupperware cups. Each year someone lovingly crafted place cards to clue us in as to where we were assigned seating. This unveiling was much like an Easter egg hunt as my cousins and I clapped with glee or groaned with dismay as we found our place cards and discovered who we were sitting with this year (would it be with a favorite cousin or an elderly relative who smells like cod liver oil?).
We are kept in the house because it inevitably is raining and cold outside (Thanksgiving in the Northwest!), but our racing from room to room, crawling under the tables, and playing hide and seek behind the heavy brocade curtains is well tolerated since everyone has large and active families. Waves of wonderfully, delicious scents escaped from the kitchen every time one of the ladies comes out of the kitchen bringing a plate of sliced banana nut bread, or home canned baby dill pickles, or cranberry sauce, clueing us in to the fact that dinner is “almost” ready. Steam is literally starting to roll out the kitchen door every time they open it and with it a glimpse of kitchen counters and tables covered in pumpkin pies, scalloped corn, scalloped oysters, a mountain of potatoes, green bean casserole, Jell-O salads…and turkey!
My Uncle announces in an authoritative, though jolly voice, that we should find our seats and there is a mad scramble to do just that. Standing behind our chairs, we all join hands, bow our heads and give thanks for this bounty. The short, to the point grace that I am used to for our dinners at home, is now a much longer, much more inclusive variety and my stomach is growling like a rabid wolf by the time we all join in with a hearty Amen!
We sit and all of my aunts and older female cousins start to parade out in an almost endless line of food being brought from the kitchen. The only thing that I have ever seen that looks anything like this processional is when I saw a program on the National Geographic channel on army ants having a very good day. Then we pass the bowls around our assigned clique, loading our plates up, trying to sample every dish, both the new or the old favorites, and we hear our aunt remind us to “leave room for pie!” The laughing, the talking, and the feasting will continue for at least two hours. Of course we never manage to leave room for pie, but that doesn’t stop anyone from “having just a little slice.”
In Lynden everyone is offered coffee with their pie…even the young children. Of course the children actually get a little splash of coffee in their milk, but it is still offered to them as coffee. One oddity (which I never knew was an oddity until I was an adult) is that everyone, and I mean everyone, gets poured just half of a cup of coffee. I never notice this, particularly since you could go back for endless refills, until I brought my fiancée to one of our gatherings and he asked why they only poured him half of a cup of coffee? I had no idea why, just that it was always done. I asked my non-Dutch mother, who smiled and said that the Dutch hate to waste anything, so they pour a half of a cup of coffee at a time to eliminate the likelihood that it would be left cold in the cup. Following suit, leftovers are painstakingly divided amongst the families and sent home surely to be eaten and certainly not left to waste. Coats are brought out of the bedroom, bear hugs are distributed, and sleepy, children are tucked into the vehicles for a long ride home. Backseat boundary disputes fade and all leave with a better idea of what it means to be a family…and what it means to be a part of the Dutch Mafia.
By the time we arrived in Lynden, I was almost comatose with motion sickness! Dad would open the door and I would stumble out, wanting to kiss the ground, but since it was a dairy farm, I resisted the urge. Surprisingly my sisters were never plagued with being car sick and would read books and work puzzles to pass the time…if I just looked at those things, I would toss my cookies! Once we were out of the car and I was able to stand without wobbling, we were given last minute instruction on “proper behavior of young ladies at family gatherings” and entered the front door to my Dad’s oldest sibling and sister.
Aunt Del would rush from the kitchen the moment we opened the door, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, and she would scoop us into a bear hug before releasing us into the fray that constituted a large…and I mean large…Dutch family gathering! My Dad had 5 siblings and each of them had 4 or 5 children, so when we got together we easily filled the largest farm house. A curiously long table (I later learned it was actually 8 tables) snaked from the dinning room, through the living room and half way into the parlor. Around it was a mix of wooden and metal chairs and even a piano bench or two. All of the tables were covered in starched white table clothes and lined with an assortment of plates, silverware, and Tupperware cups. Each year someone lovingly crafted place cards to clue us in as to where we were assigned seating. This unveiling was much like an Easter egg hunt as my cousins and I clapped with glee or groaned with dismay as we found our place cards and discovered who we were sitting with this year (would it be with a favorite cousin or an elderly relative who smells like cod liver oil?).
We are kept in the house because it inevitably is raining and cold outside (Thanksgiving in the Northwest!), but our racing from room to room, crawling under the tables, and playing hide and seek behind the heavy brocade curtains is well tolerated since everyone has large and active families. Waves of wonderfully, delicious scents escaped from the kitchen every time one of the ladies comes out of the kitchen bringing a plate of sliced banana nut bread, or home canned baby dill pickles, or cranberry sauce, clueing us in to the fact that dinner is “almost” ready. Steam is literally starting to roll out the kitchen door every time they open it and with it a glimpse of kitchen counters and tables covered in pumpkin pies, scalloped corn, scalloped oysters, a mountain of potatoes, green bean casserole, Jell-O salads…and turkey!
My Uncle announces in an authoritative, though jolly voice, that we should find our seats and there is a mad scramble to do just that. Standing behind our chairs, we all join hands, bow our heads and give thanks for this bounty. The short, to the point grace that I am used to for our dinners at home, is now a much longer, much more inclusive variety and my stomach is growling like a rabid wolf by the time we all join in with a hearty Amen!
We sit and all of my aunts and older female cousins start to parade out in an almost endless line of food being brought from the kitchen. The only thing that I have ever seen that looks anything like this processional is when I saw a program on the National Geographic channel on army ants having a very good day. Then we pass the bowls around our assigned clique, loading our plates up, trying to sample every dish, both the new or the old favorites, and we hear our aunt remind us to “leave room for pie!” The laughing, the talking, and the feasting will continue for at least two hours. Of course we never manage to leave room for pie, but that doesn’t stop anyone from “having just a little slice.”
In Lynden everyone is offered coffee with their pie…even the young children. Of course the children actually get a little splash of coffee in their milk, but it is still offered to them as coffee. One oddity (which I never knew was an oddity until I was an adult) is that everyone, and I mean everyone, gets poured just half of a cup of coffee. I never notice this, particularly since you could go back for endless refills, until I brought my fiancée to one of our gatherings and he asked why they only poured him half of a cup of coffee? I had no idea why, just that it was always done. I asked my non-Dutch mother, who smiled and said that the Dutch hate to waste anything, so they pour a half of a cup of coffee at a time to eliminate the likelihood that it would be left cold in the cup. Following suit, leftovers are painstakingly divided amongst the families and sent home surely to be eaten and certainly not left to waste. Coats are brought out of the bedroom, bear hugs are distributed, and sleepy, children are tucked into the vehicles for a long ride home. Backseat boundary disputes fade and all leave with a better idea of what it means to be a family…and what it means to be a part of the Dutch Mafia.
Introduction to "United State's Melting Pot: Who Can We Choose to Be?
Writer’s Choice: “United State’s Melting Pot: Who can We Chose to Be?” was an important write for me. I have long wondered about the very issues with which this paper dealt. It was also an emotional paper, requiring me to dredge up sad memories my mother shared with me years ago about her childhood in Montana. My mother shared those memories with me in an attempt to help me understand why I should not judge people based on race. I felt that in writing this paper, I in a little way am carrying on her desire to encourage people to pause and consider the foolishness of any argument which gives race as the determiner of worth. I touched on this when I wrote, “ Her early experiences were peppered with tales of what it was like to grow up as a white Native American in a town and a time which frowned first upon having a mix heritage, and second, being a Native American.” I needed to include this piece because it gave me a means to voice not just my warm and gentle emotions or humor, but also my opinions. So, as you read this piece, I would ask you to remember this line: “hope still exists that Americans will embrace the simple recognition that race is a social opinion and not a biological one.”
United State's Melting Pot: Who Can We Choose to Be?
The United States is often referred to as the “Great Melting Pot.” A nation of blended cultures, ethnic backgrounds, and races, it reflects the backgrounds of those who have landed on its shores from places diverse and far off. Genetically, Americans live up to that “Great Melting Pot” reputation. Most Americans will rarely answer simply or briefly when questions about their ancestry. Most often, their reply will include a variety of ethnicities. Up until the 19th Century, most Americans could describe themselves by one, or perhaps two, ethnic backgrounds. However, our pedigrees have become so varied, that possibly no easily-discernable ethnic majority exists. With such a jumble of bloodlines, an American has any number of ethnicities or races to which it may wish to align. This presents a unique opportunity—or dilemma—for the 21st Century. For a choice to be valid society must be willing to recognize it.
In her essay “The ‘F’ Word,” Firoozeh Dumas writes about her struggles to gain acceptance into American society when even her name seems to be an insurmountable stumbling block to English-trained tongues—not to mention her strongly Iranian heritage, which causes problems in a time when Americans harbor great distrust of anyone from the Middle East. Dumas encounters little difficulty, she says, adjusting to American society, but she feels the isolation from the mainstream which her name engenders. She decides, therefore, to simplify her life at age 12 and chooses for herself the American-sounding name of “Julie.” From that moment on, her life simplified. People remember her name, and she avoids much of the anti-Iranian sentiment, which might otherwise have come her way. When she enters college, she opts to go back to using her real name, which works fine until she graduates from college with honors but still cannot get a job. Dumas speaks about her attempt to resolve this issue when she writes, “After three months of rejections, I added “Julie” to my resume. Call it coincidence, but the job offers started coming in” (62). By altering her name, ‘Julie’ is able to alter people’s perception of her heritage.
In Russell Thornton’s “What the Census Doesn’t Count,” he writes, “The 2000 census remains silent on whether the people around a given person consider him or her to be white, Asian American, or something else altogether. And that relative suspension of social judgment is the 2000 census’s greatest innovation; it recognizes who you think you are as an important piece of information” (66). Thornton claims that race is a “social notion, not a biological reality” (65), and yet he points out that “the races society has created are real to many people and have important psychological and social implications for individuals” (65). He goes on to state that up until the 1900’s, the census had no provisions for mixed races. From 1900 to 1960, the census finally had a mixed race allowance and that was for a mulatto category. During those years, if a difficult classification were in question, the census takers were directed to ask members of a person’s community about what race that person was thought to be. This methodology of census-taking demonstrates that race, at that time, was what society thought you were, not who you thought you were. The census has been self-reporting as far as race goes since 1960, though Thornton points out that, though we may now choose who we are, society might well choose differently, and that is as much a reality as our own self image.
My Mother was born in Helena, Montana in the mid 1930’s and grew up in the rough mining town of Butte, Montana. Her early experiences were peppered with tales of what it was like to grow up as a white Native American in a town and a time which frowned first upon having a mix heritage, and second, being a Native American. My mom’s sisters shared the same ancestry but they “looked” white. They did not have my mother’s dark skin, high cheek-bones, and straight black hair. Though Butte is a small community, and my mother’s family was well known throughout, her sisters received distinctly different treatment for their blue eyes and light brown, wavy hair. When she was 15 years old, my mother and her family moved to Bellingham, Washington, and my mother decided that she would start a new chapter in her life. She cut her hair short, curled it, and made a point of claiming her French heritage. She found social acceptance in her new high school, and for the first time in her life, she was not only included, but also sought out. She was the same person, but her community perceived her differently.
The United States has genetically blended many cultures and ethnic backgrounds to form one united country, and the diverse racial and ethnic backgrounds that form its population continue to allow a unique flavoring to the culture. The next logical step is for Americans to successfully blend races and ethnicities by recognizing both their right to exist in peace and their responsibility to do so. This revelation may result from the continuing genetic homogenization of the American people and the residual breakdown of social stereotypes to which this homogenization leads. My mother’s story and the essays of Dumas and Thornton show that society still has the final word on both race-determination, however, as well as an individual’s acceptance into societal ranks. Nonetheless, hope still exists that Americans will embrace the simple recognition that race is a social opinion and not a biological one. Until then we can legally pick our race but, to live it we need to convince the community around us.
In her essay “The ‘F’ Word,” Firoozeh Dumas writes about her struggles to gain acceptance into American society when even her name seems to be an insurmountable stumbling block to English-trained tongues—not to mention her strongly Iranian heritage, which causes problems in a time when Americans harbor great distrust of anyone from the Middle East. Dumas encounters little difficulty, she says, adjusting to American society, but she feels the isolation from the mainstream which her name engenders. She decides, therefore, to simplify her life at age 12 and chooses for herself the American-sounding name of “Julie.” From that moment on, her life simplified. People remember her name, and she avoids much of the anti-Iranian sentiment, which might otherwise have come her way. When she enters college, she opts to go back to using her real name, which works fine until she graduates from college with honors but still cannot get a job. Dumas speaks about her attempt to resolve this issue when she writes, “After three months of rejections, I added “Julie” to my resume. Call it coincidence, but the job offers started coming in” (62). By altering her name, ‘Julie’ is able to alter people’s perception of her heritage.
In Russell Thornton’s “What the Census Doesn’t Count,” he writes, “The 2000 census remains silent on whether the people around a given person consider him or her to be white, Asian American, or something else altogether. And that relative suspension of social judgment is the 2000 census’s greatest innovation; it recognizes who you think you are as an important piece of information” (66). Thornton claims that race is a “social notion, not a biological reality” (65), and yet he points out that “the races society has created are real to many people and have important psychological and social implications for individuals” (65). He goes on to state that up until the 1900’s, the census had no provisions for mixed races. From 1900 to 1960, the census finally had a mixed race allowance and that was for a mulatto category. During those years, if a difficult classification were in question, the census takers were directed to ask members of a person’s community about what race that person was thought to be. This methodology of census-taking demonstrates that race, at that time, was what society thought you were, not who you thought you were. The census has been self-reporting as far as race goes since 1960, though Thornton points out that, though we may now choose who we are, society might well choose differently, and that is as much a reality as our own self image.
My Mother was born in Helena, Montana in the mid 1930’s and grew up in the rough mining town of Butte, Montana. Her early experiences were peppered with tales of what it was like to grow up as a white Native American in a town and a time which frowned first upon having a mix heritage, and second, being a Native American. My mom’s sisters shared the same ancestry but they “looked” white. They did not have my mother’s dark skin, high cheek-bones, and straight black hair. Though Butte is a small community, and my mother’s family was well known throughout, her sisters received distinctly different treatment for their blue eyes and light brown, wavy hair. When she was 15 years old, my mother and her family moved to Bellingham, Washington, and my mother decided that she would start a new chapter in her life. She cut her hair short, curled it, and made a point of claiming her French heritage. She found social acceptance in her new high school, and for the first time in her life, she was not only included, but also sought out. She was the same person, but her community perceived her differently.
The United States has genetically blended many cultures and ethnic backgrounds to form one united country, and the diverse racial and ethnic backgrounds that form its population continue to allow a unique flavoring to the culture. The next logical step is for Americans to successfully blend races and ethnicities by recognizing both their right to exist in peace and their responsibility to do so. This revelation may result from the continuing genetic homogenization of the American people and the residual breakdown of social stereotypes to which this homogenization leads. My mother’s story and the essays of Dumas and Thornton show that society still has the final word on both race-determination, however, as well as an individual’s acceptance into societal ranks. Nonetheless, hope still exists that Americans will embrace the simple recognition that race is a social opinion and not a biological one. Until then we can legally pick our race but, to live it we need to convince the community around us.
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