Much of my life has been developed around the fact that I am good at math. As early as elementary school I was won various awards and received praise for my abilities. I continued this trend all the way through the end of high school. I always stood out as a "math guy." I never did anything in particular to excel at it, I just "got it." As high school came to an end and it was time to pick a major, it seemed to be a no-brainer to me (and I'm sure everyone around me) that I would go into engineering because that's what math guys do.
A forum for Blog Community #2 of CSCL 1001 (Introduction to Cultural Studies: Rhetoric, Power, Desire; University of Minnesota, Fall 2011) -- and interested guests.
Monday, October 24, 2011
The Math Guy
Much of my life has been developed around the fact that I am good at math. As early as elementary school I was won various awards and received praise for my abilities. I continued this trend all the way through the end of high school. I always stood out as a "math guy." I never did anything in particular to excel at it, I just "got it." As high school came to an end and it was time to pick a major, it seemed to be a no-brainer to me (and I'm sure everyone around me) that I would go into engineering because that's what math guys do.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
I am who we are
It all started from the fall in 2000 when we were 12 or 13 years old. I can hardly remember how we got to know each other that well. We were always the few students who performed great in all kinds of exams. Four of us worked together in mathematics. Two of us was a couple once a time. We quarreled for small stuffs, we cried for feelings, and of course that we had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.
And when it comes to the year we are in now, two of us are studying abroad in America, three of us are taking their graduate lives in China and the last two work their lives. It is hard to say that how we interact each other's life. We can only say that we are grateful that there is something which guide us together, being friends and existing as a family. I do know that they are the ones who will always stand in my back supporting me whenever I need them and they are the reason why I can survive all the negative feelings when I am alone here in a foreign country. Sometimes I wonder if I could get any chance to meet someone like them. Or maybe it is such a long dream that I do not notice it's reality.
Even if this is a dream, we still stand in the front of our school gate. We smile, under the sunlight, among the breeze, like the endless summer.
There's a place we used to be
There's a face I used to see
There's a picture with you by my side
There's a moment that I want to find.
I don’t know where to start
Or how to begin
But I know I love you still.
What's more important?
Oh God its my parents.
"Riley, shut up!"
For the love of swimming
When I was eight, I took up swimming lessons. Plunging myself into the blue, rippling water every Saturday in the summer for the next three years, I learned the correct knee positions in the elementary back stroke and the precise arm movements for the front crawl. At that age, swimming lessons were a chore, something that I didn’t want to waste my precious Saturday mornings on….and I made it very clear to my swim instructor. I thought that maybe by being stubborn I just might get out of going to lessons. It soon became routine: getting up early, sitting in the car while my parents drove me to yet another lesson, and standing in the freezing cold pool trying to do ‘red-light-green-light’ and ‘underwater bobs’. However, after a while I learned to love swimming. And what better way to continue with it than become a swim instructor? At least this is how I thought my grand narrative wanted me to proceed.
So at the age of fifteen I went through the classes and the certification process, and ended up back where I had started…Saturday morning swimming lessons. I donned my black swimsuit and jumped into the pool in order to teach other eight year olds the joys of swimming. Yet, I soon noticed that every class I taught had at least one ‘stubborn’ child. One who couldn’t…didn’t want to participate in ‘soldier, monkey, tree’ or do the scissors kick. These kids reminded me of myself…and I made it my goal to get them just as involved as the rest. Even though I wasn’t successful every time, I am happy that I tried to help.
Long story short, I am who I am today because of not just swimming, but also teaching it. My history led me to act and think the way I do now. Even though according to Hegel, history is only ‘important’ if it is of World-Historical individuals (great men), I feel my history is still important to me, and it is not done yet. It’s still going somewhere; it still needs to find its ideal structure. And now that I think about it, some people may think that my history may never have a telos…but to me it already will.
Best Friends Forever...... or not.
I absolutely love this photo. It just epitomizes my childhood. If you were to ask the other girls in the photo they would probably say the same. It was probably the happiest time of my life.
GuacaMOLE face
Not So Clueless
Adoption
Happier by the Dozen
This is my annual family Christmas picture from 2010 (Mom says I can’t share this year’s picture yet, so this will have to do). Count us up, 12 people total! For as long as I can remember, I have been introduced as “the girl with, like, 30 siblings.” Although there is only 10 of us children, being one of so many defined much of my life thus far.
My parents constantly reminded us that we are all family, and family is always going to be the number one priority for everyone, and all intra-family activities are encouraged.
Our friends never understood. They thought my parents were terrible for rarely letting us have friends over or go to parties! Our friends must have never known that frankly, we preferred hanging out with ourselves…
The easiest way to explain why we were always told to play together is by describing a typical day in October of 4th grade. The routine was set practically in stone: the four high schoolers were up and ready to go on their own by 7:15 am (there was no bus despite being 5 miles from the school, so dad was the driver); the three grade schoolers up, fed, cleaned, clothed, and sent out the door by mom to walk to the bus stop; the lone preschooler was up since roughly 5:00 am and just waiting to be dropped off at 10:00 am; and the toddler and infant were lugged around with my mom the rest of the morning and early afternoon.
School would end; high schoolers were in between sport seasons and would be driven home by mom (two babies in back), and the bus dropped us grade schoolers off soon after.
Once we were all back at home, we could do homework, read, get ready for swim practice, pet the dog, watch a little TV, pretty much anything to stay out of mom’s way in the kitchen. Then, usually at around 5:00 pm, was family dinner. Sometimes dinner seemed very early, but my mom was not about to drop nightly family dinners, and 5:00 was a time we were all around. After dinner my mom would rush the middle 6 of us off to swim practice and the oldest two boys would watch the youngest two babies.
We were with each other basically as much as possible. And, because of that, we were all the best of friends. By Friday and Saturday, we had worn each other out that the idea of having a friend over wasn’t even desirable. Besides, we saw so little of our school friends compared to our family that they didn’t seem to understand our jokes, or know what motivated us, or remember the things we liked and didn’t like. In other words, having our big family filled every need we ever had. Want to have fun? Find one of your sisters. Need to talk to someone? There are 9 siblings and 2 parents. Can’t do your homework? Someone’s had that assignment before.
I believe that for the most part, family was all any of us needed. Now, my history is my family. It's all I remember.
Family is all we’ve had, all we need, and all we want.
Growing Up in the Neighborhood
I don’t have a very big family. I only have one brother, and a few cousins, who I’m not very close to. Growing up, the other kids in my neighborhood were my family. We did everything together. We went to each other’s houses before and after school, depending on whose parents would be home. We played together at recess. We went to the park and played in the farm fields together. We played on the same sports teams and did our homework together. We had neighborhood parties in the summer. Our families got together to watch football games. We all would go to baseball games together. We were all the best of friends, and our parents were the best of friends. Through the years we became one big family.
Growing up, I took this ‘family’ for granted. I didn’t realize that not every neighborhood was like this. As I grew up and made new friends, I was shocked to learn that some people didn’t even know their neighbor’s names! I didn’t appreciate what I had growing up, and now I regret it. Things in the neighborhood have changed now. We aren’t as close as we used to be. Half of us are at college. The farm fields have been replaced with new houses and we definitely don’t get to play together at recess anymore. Now, I cherish every backyard barbeque and every Packers game we get to spend together. I would not be the same person that I am today without living in my neighborhood. It gave me a sense of community and an instant set of friends growing up. We learned from each other and to this day we will always have each other’s backs. We drifted into our own separate groups of friends as we grew up, but we will always have a bond that will never go away. In high school, people didn’t understand why we all were so close, and I really don’t think anyone ever will. As I grow up and start a family some day, I hope that I can live in a neighborhood like the one I grew up in, so they can be just as fortunate as I was. I just hope that they realize it before I did.
(The picture is of some of the kids from the neighborhood, waiting for the bus, about 8 or 9 years ago. From the left: Dominic, Michael, Zach, Nicole, Me, Jen, Leanne, Deanna, Laura, and Kate)
A Penny Really Does Make All the Difference
Most people today no longer value a penny. They see one on the ground and they don’t even pick it up, it is left to be stepped on and get dirtier every second. However, for me pennies are extremely important. Growing up I spent a lot of time at my grandparent’s house and while I was there I could almost always find a penny. I didn’t realize until about four years ago though why I was always finding pennies at my grandparent’s home. My father four years ago told me that my grandpa was always leaving pennies around the house for my grandma who loved to play the penny slots at the casino. Four years ago my grandfather passed away from cancer. On the day of my grandpa’s funeral though a crazy thing happened, everyone in my family found a penny in the craziest place. I personally found my penny on the stairs in my house. Now to someone who isn’t in my family this wouldn’t seem that abnormal but mom is someone who loves to have a clean house and she had just vacuumed earlier that morning so finding this penny there was pretty crazy. Now fast forward four years and I don’t think you could find anyone who values a penny more than I do. Since being at college I have found four pennies, all in some pretty weird places and every time I found one I know my grandpa is there with me, making sure I am safe
Now because I value these pennies so much and think of them as my grandfather, I have become sort of a believer you could say. These pennies are a part of who I am,. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hope to find a penny and be reminded of my grandfather. And when I do find a penny I can’t help but smile and think of my grandpa. My faith in these pennies has shaped a lot of things about my life and made me believe that even though someone is gone they still are there with you in some way. I don’t think I will ever stop valuing pennies as much as I do or will ever let them stop reminding me of my grandpa.
My inner jungle gym
When I was young both my parents worked full time. I went to daycare for most of the day, but I was o.k. with that. I loved daycare. I got to play with friends and have a good time. My favorite part about daycare was the jungle gym that took up the entire back yard. There are no good pictures to accurately represent the incredibleness of this playground, but the picture on the left will get your imagination started. Anyways, this daycare with its intense playground had its rules. And I followed these rules to the T. The daycare was well organized and was very efficient in handling 20+ kids at a time, thanks to the rules set in place. The rules and organization that I was a part of when I was a kid and having two working parents are two shaping factors of who I am today.
Having both my parents working full time, I was brought up to be an independent child. I was able to be productive by myself. Then with the enforced rules at daycare my life was very structural. Both attributes/ topics define my being today. I work well be myself but I also can function well in groups because of the exposure to daycare as a child. I am very organized and usually set up lists for the week/day of what needs to be accomplish, the structural side of me. And I find that my morals are based more on rules of what I think is or is not the correct and/ or right way for things to happen. A grand narrative that was hiding under the surface of my conscious, placed there way back when I was young. This historical archive I have depicts my inner mobility, my structural jungle gym of a system that guides me on the right path.
Drop the Puck
The Story of an Accident Prone Child
Last week, Robin shared his "first date" story and I have my own story that relates. This is a little different though because this is a story that is about me but has been told to me by my parents because I was too young to remember this. When I was just starting to walk I didn't really walk, I ran. So, here I am, this little toddler running like some kind of kamikaze all around the house. Well, as a toddler, my motor skills were not quite fully developed and apparently I fell down A LOT. All of this active clumsiness resulted once in not one, but two black eyes. One day, my dad, (who is a general contractor) had to run to the hardware store and had to bring me along. At the checkout, a concerned cashier took down my dad's information (this was when people still used checks I guess) and called the police. Later that day, a police officer came to our door to investigate. My dad was explaining himself to the officer when, at that moment, I come running out and in front of the officer I fall flat on my face. That was enough to convince that officer.
Now, fast forward a decade or so and drop me in gym class, or sports of any kind. I've been notorious for being clumsy in some of these situations. In fact, in high school gym class I kept a tally of how many times I got hit in the face in one semester (it was 20 by the way). I can't help but feel that there is a connection between the story I have always been told and my accident prone-ness later in life. My explanation for this is that we are taught to follow these narrative structures that are difficult to break out of. In my case, I was always told I was clumsy via the story of being a toddler with two black eyes, therefore I continued to follow that narrative because that is what has been expected of me. All that extra emphasis on helmets and pads as a child just equates to the message that "You are accident prone and you will get hurt." It's a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, don't you think? If you're told that you are something I think you are much more likely to follow the pre-constructed path. I think these are the sort of structures that perpetuate cyclical behavior, such as the cycle of poverty or domestic abuse.
If you grow up constantly being told one thing, it will always be a part of you even if you break away from it later in life. (I do feel like I'm not as clumsy, but then again I haven't been playing any kind of sport lately). I think it works the same way with politics, your parents raise you one way and once you get to a certain point you either continue on the path (like my brother) or you veer off in your own direction (like I did). I think that narratives have been so ingrained in our telling of history that we train ourselves to follow along in this same path, which makes it more difficult to break the cycle. The larger question this raises is, is it the people influencing the history, or is it the history influencing the people?