Culture of Me

Standing up to dust some dirt off my pants, I saw it. A black car with no windows came bolting along the street ahead of us. Its engine boomed and it came directly at the small park we were gardening in. We froze, unsure if the car would turn away from us in time. With a deafening screech, the car turned to the side, narrowly missing the flimsy wire fence bordering the park. The man in the car - a tall, skinny black man - jumped out, screamed profanities at us and walked away. He left the car, with its door open, in the middle of the street.

In the ninth grade I accompanied a group from the women’s club of my town on a community service trip to Newark, NJ. The objective was to clean up a small park and plant bulbs for the coming spring. But as we got to planting, I couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. Maybe it was the fact that we were twenty or so women gathered together, or that we were the only large cluster of white people for many blocks.

It was one of the oddest and most jarring experiences I had had up until then. But it only served to bolster one of the cultural values that had been instilled in me from adolescence. The only way to not “end up” in an environment like that was to work hard and get a good education.

My parents, both journalists for a prominent newspaper, had fostered a very educated, information-based environment in our home. Some of my earliest memories include listening to thick-accented BBC reporters and watching armored vehicles roll across the TV screen. I could see that other parts of the world – even other parts of my state – were not as well off as we were. And my parents constantly reminded me to be grateful for all I have. Not taking advantage of access to great education was to waste one of the most important things in life.

My neighborhood in Glen Ridge, NJ is predominantly white with, as my mother says, “astronomically high taxes.” But expenses of this sort were always worth it to send her children to one of the top ten high schools in the state. Race was not really an issue where I grew up, partly because most in my town were white. But since Glen Ridge is only 5 miles from poorer neighborhoods like Newark, my peers and I were vaguely aware of the so-called “bubble” we lived in.

Within a small, competitive educational environment like Glen Ridge, I quickly learned that education was everything. High school and college ultimately determined what type of job one would have and where one would land in life in general. So going to college was never debatable. Without it, life was certain to go nowhere. Like schoolwork, always being active and occupied was also very important. I became engrossed in every sport offered through my school system. I ran, swam and competed in triathlons. In both my academic and athletic life I learned that becoming great at something always requires time, dedication and effort.

And attending Pennsylvania State University was my way of dedicating myself to the world around me. Part of my decision to go to one of the nation’s ten largest universities came from the fact that I went to such a small suburban high school. My graduating class had only 108 people and I felt an urge to get away from its small, suburban environment. I knew that I needed know more about the world outside the “bubble” that was my town. It’s only through these life experiences after high school that I have truly seen the world.

Apart from getting to know hundreds of individuals with backgrounds completely different from mine, I was able to travel and study abroad; one of the greatest influences in my life. While living in Spain, I was shocked to find out first-hand that similar racial tensions also existed thousands of miles from my part of the world.

The elementary school I worked in was populated with a majority of Spanish children. There were also a few black, Moroccan and Chinese students that attended. I noticed that race did play a significant role in interactions among the children. Because there were so few minorities in the school – accompanied by the fact that all illustrations in schoolbooks were of white children – their differences were highlighted. Even at such an early age, tensions about race and “normalcy” were present.

During my time in Spain, I learned to speak fluent Spanish and got a taste for people, places and cultures that are far removed from my own. As I traveled around Europe and Africa I found that people, although separated by cultural and language differences, essentially face the same amount of trials and tribulations as Americans do.

By learning the Spanish language, it opened my eyes to another world. I noticed that upon my return to the US, I could understand a whole range of individuals I never would have listened to in the past. And these people became infinitely more humanized. No longer was the Mexican man behind the counter of McDonald’s just a food server. He became more real and more human to me than ever before. My international experiences have given me great insight to the mostly homogeneous environment I was raised in. It’s given me a great respect for people different from me.

After having come to know people and cultures outside of my “bubble,” I’m sure that an experience like the one I had in Newark would not shock me as it once had 10 years ago. Looking back on it now, and considering the racial tensions present in Newark at that time, an event like that isn’t as difficult to understand.

My culture – my upbringing and my later-life experiences – has prompted me to be more understanding of differences within the classroom. Because I understand what it feels like to be in a completely foreign environment, I can only hope to promote an open and understanding classroom environment. Students in any type of schooling environment will inevitably be distinct based on their personal cultures and upbringings. The opportunity to have an education is an invaluable one, but it’s also realistic to understand the cultural and racial distinctions among learners.