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Change has been the one constant in my life. While staring out at the bleak
Wisconsin winter, I think back to my beginnings on a warm tropical island. The
biggest change was probably the first — moving from that buzzing
Spanish-speaking isle to the sleepy sea-side town that was Tampa in 1978. It
took me some time to realize that the other pre-schoolers could not understand
my native tongue. Before long, I too was speaking their language.
Five years later I, an excited eight-year-old girl, boarded a school bus in
New Jersey. The excitement quickly turned to fear as I heard rampant swearing in
the back of the bus. I was truly shocked when the bus driver did nothing to stop
the vulgarity. In my schools in Florida such behavior would have met with a bar
of soap and a visit to the principal‘s office. A year later, I had a "Jersey"
accent, and had started swearing too.
After nine years my family then moved to a place called "a whole ‘nother
country": Texas. I discovered that everything is bigger in Texas, from the size
of a glass of ice tea to the distances on the road. My mother added barbecued
brisket to the regular menu of turkey and Idaho potatoes on Monday and arroz con
pollo on Tuesday.
The incredibly friendly Texans, wearing cowboy boots and going to high
school football games on Friday nights, seemed a totally different breed from my
friends in New Jersey. A slight drawl entered my speech.
In two years time, I found myself in the mountains of rural Bolivian. As
part of a team of doctors and students researching hypertension on a group of
African- Bolivian villagers, I quickly learned a new vocabulary that included
medical and anthropological terms. The greatest test of my linguistic abilities
came when a villager accused me of drinking blood samples in some kind of
vampire-like witchcraft ritual. I had to bridge a vast cultural gulf to explain
a DNA isolation and analysis protocol in Spanish to someone who had never heard
of a gene much less a double helix.
A year later I stood in a line at a McDonalds outside Buenos Aires asking
for a sorbeto with a Puerto Rican accent and receiving a blank stare in return.
I did not realize that in Argentina the word for straw was papote. Working at
the U.S. embassy, I could clearly see the obvious differences between the U.S.
and Argentina, but being out among the people and actually experiencing the
culture helped me begin to understand and appreciate the subtle differences
which, when taken together, make up a people.
Each place I have lived has its differences, from the obvious distinctions
of Wisconsin and Texas weather, to the regional variations of the Spanish
language. I bring with me wherever I go a part of those places and the impact
they have had on my life, most evident to others by the variations in my speech.
Beneath all the accents, however, lies something more significant, for I believe
who you are is immeasurable more important than where you were. When I was
younger, I could not clearly discern between situations where I should or should
not adopt the ways of those around me. With maturity however I have come to
understand the crucial difference between adaptation and assimilation. I have
chosen to reject the vulgarity of the New Jersey school bus; I have also adopted
the Texans‘ warm and friendly manner. Having experienced frequent moves to very
different surroundings, I can adapt without compromising what is important to me
while learning from each new setting.
A sign hung in my garage for many years that said, "Home is where you can
scratch where it itches." To me this means that home is wherever you are
comfortable and secure with yourself and your surroundings. I will be at home
and prepared to meet new challenges wherever I am. Starting over so many times
has taught me not to fear failure, but rather to embrace opportunities for
change.
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发表于 2016-7-10 15:24:43