To be honest, I was not looking forward to this semester of Honors at all. I mean, immigration is not my favorite subject in the world. I have spent the past two years discussing subjects such as immigration, war, child soldiers and the like in my English and social studies classes; I was ready to take a break from all of the heartbreak and talk about a lighter subject for a while. So needless to say I was less than enthused when I discovered that immigration was the topic this semester for both Honors and my Adolescent Psychology course.
Reading The Middle of Everywhere was a bit of a challenge, probably due what I just explained. The book was entertaining and wasn't what I expected it to be, don't get me wrong, but...it didn't seem quite real to me. I was unable to really connect and identify with the stories at all. Their stories seemed so much more important than my own struggles; any time I tried to relate personal stories from my life to their experiences it felt shallow and superfluous. I didn't begin to relate to the subject until Monday night.
Monday night threw me off balance a little bit; here I was expecting a long big discussion (or debate, as it might be called) on the political aspects of immigration. I was a bit surprised when the class started and we were telling stories; stories about our families, our history, our traditions (TRADITION! TRADITION!!....anytime I see that word I think of Fiddler on the Roof...but I digress...).It was interesting for me to see and note how similar (and in some cases, very different) my family and families of others were. Listening and telling those stories also helped me better understand the others in the class. This is the sort of thing I gravitate to; the stories, the ability to relate to my own life. This is what I had missed when reading the book initially - I had missed that personal connection.
(One tradition in my family is making fun gingerbread people with my sister Alison at Christmas...here she is in the middle of creating our masterpieces, which included Edward Cullen, the Jonas Brothers, Taylor Swift, and Tim Gunn.)
Like I mentioned earlier, my Adolescent Psychology class is going to be working with a group of Somali high school students to create a PSA announcement that can help educate the Somali community. I am going to be totally honest here: this is going to be really hard for me. Don't get me wrong, I am the exact opposite of rasict. But I come from a place where there was little diversity in my community, or at least the part of my community I frequently interacted with. I think that my main problem is the fear of the unknown. In her book, Pipher states that "fear of the other is basic to human nature" (330). Combined with my slightly (ok, mostly) shy tendencies, that lack of exposure is a big thing to overcome. No doubt that after a day or two I am going to be fine; I'll probably end up being the person most enthused about Somali culture in the entire group.
I can remember feeling the same trepidation when going to Juarez, Mexico on a mission trip for the first time. What if they made fun of my mediocre Spanish skills, my height, my weight, my American accent, my overly pale skin...but once I got there, all those silly concerns melted away. After being immersed in the culture, I became a part of it. I built a wall for a school...led VBS (or Club de los Niños) for the local children...climbed a mountain...got stuck by a cactus...walked with local children to the corner store to buy orange Fanta...played jump rope at an orphanage...went to a church service conducted entirely in Spanish...translated for the adults in the group (i started to think in Spanish after a while)...had my red/blonde hair examined and played with by little girls with hair of the darkest of black...The list goes on and on. They didn't care about any of the little things that I had worried about. All they cared about, and I discovered all that I really cared about was becoming a part of their story. Although we might not have spoke the same language, we connected through something else, something that I'm not quite sure I have the ability to explain. I was just happy to be a part of their story, like they had become a part of mine.
(This is on the mountain overlooking Juarez. For those of you who can't speak Spanish, it says: "The city of Juarez. The Bible is the truth. Read it." Pretty sweet, huh?)
I'm eager to learn about different cultures, although I am terrified. But I will be fine, in time. It's the exposure, the immersion that makes it real for me; first hand accounts of personal stories from immigrants is what makes it hit me. (And yes, I realize that the entire book we had to read was basically a bunch of personal stories.) It is my hope that this semester we can focus not on the political ramifications of immigration, but rather learning how to weave our stories together with those whose voices may sound strange to us. At least, that's what I want to do...
Reading The Middle of Everywhere was a bit of a challenge, probably due what I just explained. The book was entertaining and wasn't what I expected it to be, don't get me wrong, but...it didn't seem quite real to me. I was unable to really connect and identify with the stories at all. Their stories seemed so much more important than my own struggles; any time I tried to relate personal stories from my life to their experiences it felt shallow and superfluous. I didn't begin to relate to the subject until Monday night.
Monday night threw me off balance a little bit; here I was expecting a long big discussion (or debate, as it might be called) on the political aspects of immigration. I was a bit surprised when the class started and we were telling stories; stories about our families, our history, our traditions (TRADITION! TRADITION!!....anytime I see that word I think of Fiddler on the Roof...but I digress...).It was interesting for me to see and note how similar (and in some cases, very different) my family and families of others were. Listening and telling those stories also helped me better understand the others in the class. This is the sort of thing I gravitate to; the stories, the ability to relate to my own life. This is what I had missed when reading the book initially - I had missed that personal connection.
(One tradition in my family is making fun gingerbread people with my sister Alison at Christmas...here she is in the middle of creating our masterpieces, which included Edward Cullen, the Jonas Brothers, Taylor Swift, and Tim Gunn.)
Like I mentioned earlier, my Adolescent Psychology class is going to be working with a group of Somali high school students to create a PSA announcement that can help educate the Somali community. I am going to be totally honest here: this is going to be really hard for me. Don't get me wrong, I am the exact opposite of rasict. But I come from a place where there was little diversity in my community, or at least the part of my community I frequently interacted with. I think that my main problem is the fear of the unknown. In her book, Pipher states that "fear of the other is basic to human nature" (330). Combined with my slightly (ok, mostly) shy tendencies, that lack of exposure is a big thing to overcome. No doubt that after a day or two I am going to be fine; I'll probably end up being the person most enthused about Somali culture in the entire group.
I can remember feeling the same trepidation when going to Juarez, Mexico on a mission trip for the first time. What if they made fun of my mediocre Spanish skills, my height, my weight, my American accent, my overly pale skin...but once I got there, all those silly concerns melted away. After being immersed in the culture, I became a part of it. I built a wall for a school...led VBS (or Club de los Niños) for the local children...climbed a mountain...got stuck by a cactus...walked with local children to the corner store to buy orange Fanta...played jump rope at an orphanage...went to a church service conducted entirely in Spanish...translated for the adults in the group (i started to think in Spanish after a while)...had my red/blonde hair examined and played with by little girls with hair of the darkest of black...The list goes on and on. They didn't care about any of the little things that I had worried about. All they cared about, and I discovered all that I really cared about was becoming a part of their story. Although we might not have spoke the same language, we connected through something else, something that I'm not quite sure I have the ability to explain. I was just happy to be a part of their story, like they had become a part of mine.
(This is on the mountain overlooking Juarez. For those of you who can't speak Spanish, it says: "The city of Juarez. The Bible is the truth. Read it." Pretty sweet, huh?) I'm eager to learn about different cultures, although I am terrified. But I will be fine, in time. It's the exposure, the immersion that makes it real for me; first hand accounts of personal stories from immigrants is what makes it hit me. (And yes, I realize that the entire book we had to read was basically a bunch of personal stories.) It is my hope that this semester we can focus not on the political ramifications of immigration, but rather learning how to weave our stories together with those whose voices may sound strange to us. At least, that's what I want to do...
