Culture

[by Cyndi]

I was recently reading my friend's writing about being half Korean and the dynamics of living in a different culture and coming to terms with being a part of two worlds. I thought of how really everyone in America has had to do this since everyone immigrated except the Indians, and they are now a tiny minority in a wholly differert culture. Unlike my friend though, many of us are far removed from this transition. Her mother lived in Korea until she was married. Many of us southern Americans couldn't tell you how many generations our families have been here. Nor do we care, we are a new breed, a new culture, American.
I know my Grandmother was Irish, the name McCoy and the red hair that ran in her family are pretty conclusive. I called her my "Granny," and she is what I picture when I read ficition that includes the old Irish grandmother. I think she would have fit the mold pretty well. My children and I have a great affinity for oatmeal and plain baked potatoes. I chalk up the temper and passion that occasionally suprises folks, who thought I was incapable of such things, to my Irish heritage. I love Irish pub songs, and when no one is around I occasionally jig. But I am not Irish, although I like the little part of me that reminds me of that culture.
The Lewis name is Welsh. I don't know that much about that culture, but I think I remember reading about stubbornness and a fierce independance being traits. I can relate to those although I really haven't been able to distinguish these from the same traits which are attributed to my husband's Scottish heritage:). There are also German, Indian and English names in my family tree, and I am sure if I looked I could find other cultures. I don't reallly know if those still clearly influence me except to say that when I have a dark German beer, I feel as if I have come home. And those sandwiches with the sauerkrout and roast beef, whatever they are called, they are a little bit of heaven.
All of this to say, they do not really define me anymore. I am a mix and melting of many cultures. However, in my friends writing, I was struck by the huge struggle she delt with in thinking how to pass her Korean heritage down to her future children. I realized upon reading this that I do was having the same conflict without really have given it a name. I am not of the current, typical American culture. My grandparents, born in 1900 and 1908, did much of my early raising. My father was a depression-era baby born in 1931, he himself is old enough to be my grandfather. And they did not accept the culture many of their peers did. My father, at age 75 now, still lives in a home without airconditioning. He still uses an old, black rotary phone, and rarely watches TV. He likes to avoid grocery bills by eating fruit and vegatables he himself grows, not to mention looking up various wild plants and cooking them. And he is not really automobile dependant, a few years ago, instead of calling the mechanic or a neighbor to give him a ride to pick up his car from the shop, he rode fifteen miles on a bike to get it. That was not the only time he had done that either.
Growing up, I lived over a mile from any neighbors. And too far away from any age appropriate play mates to ever see any except for at school. I roamed all over our farm and ranch and never came in contact with a soul. From an early age, I worked in the fields with my Dad in the summer, hoeing cotton much of the day. Nature was my constant companion. I marveled when the clouds made shadows on the ground and transformed the landscape. I could smell rain, which signaled a break from the cotton fields, from far away. I laid in the pickup bed, and delighted in the cool night air and the falling star for hours on end. I saw animals birthed, grow and die. They were my playmates and friends. I knew what it was to have a horse pounding under me with not a soul in sight. I knew what it was to be free, to be alone, and yet not lonely.
My other entertainments were games that were played with people not machines. Checkers, chess, backgammon, and dominoes. And the pleasure was in the personal interaction. I did watch some TV and listen to the radio, but much of my time was outdoors. I also spent a lot of time interacting with my grandparents and Dad, One on one meaningul interaction. Much of it was work, which I think is a lost blessing to the current generation of children. But I also remember the long, nightly walks in the dark that I took almost daily with my Dad. We did a lot of talking.
And books, I did love books. I read so much as a child. I remember falling in love with the classics at a early age. As a teen, when I went to the used book store, I was searching for Hawthorne and Dickens. They were my teachers, my vacation, and my exploration. I don't think I traveled farther than Lubbock, TX until I reached college age, That is a couple of hours from my home, I had never eaten pizza, and DairyQueen, Whataburger and Sonic were my only fast food experiences. I don't think I had ever eaten in a real restaurant. I had never seen a movie on the big screen. I had seen maybe a handfull of VCR movies at school. We didn't own a VCR or a color TV. I had never been on a vacation or stayed in a motel. I had never been to a town bigger than Lubbock or driven in anything bigger than Abilene.
I went to a highschool graduation recital for one of my neighbors who babysits our kids. It was at her Dad's church. They are very conservative folk, and there are several homeschooled families who live on farms and are fairly isolated from the culture. There were some little girls there who were Lexie's age. They exuded innocence and that lack of attitude seen in so many kids who are exposed to too much of our culture. Most of the kids there were like that. I was transported back to my church days as a child. It was very much a turn of the century atmosphere that had somehow been maintained in a little farm/ranch community. Our school was not so much so, but probably a 1950's atmosphere. I was a little homesick for those days, and even though I didn't think we would be comfortable theologically in our neighbors church, I wished we could be and that my kids could grow up untouched by excessive sin a little longer.
When my kids love to swim in my Dad's mossy, fishy smelling tank, I hope they will not adopt the ultra clean ideas that cause people to reject nature, life. When they work hard in the backyard for an hour, I think maybe I can teach them a work ethic without a farm to keep them busy all the time. When they can't understand why I can't fast forward through the commercials on TV, I think maybe I have protected them a little from the media onslaught. I am proud that they do not know what Nintendo or playstation means and have never played a computer game. When they enjoy sitting out under the stars and hearing their Papa tell stories about the past, I dream that they will absorb enough beauty to fill their souls for a lifetime. I still fall back on the memories of the stars and fellowship and real talk, and they give me strength and joy to this day.
But when they leave the backyard for airconditioning, I worry that they will not explore the outdoors until they love it. I am troubled that an animal has never been their friend, and that they can not read animal's bodylanguage. I worry because they don't have a kitten to play with, the joy of my young life. I am sad that my daughter is five and has not been fishing yet. I think of the hours and hours my cousins spent outside, out of hearing of adults, out of eyesight, and the freedom we felt roaming and adventuring, and I am sad that mine can't go out our front door without me and that I have to monitor when they are in the backyard because of the bad language and music of a neighbor's teens. I am sad that they have never thought to make a mud pie, or waded in mud up to their knees, or watched all sorts of animals on a daily basis. I am sad that they will never run across a hot cotton field barefoot, and know the joy of digging their feet into the cool earth. They have other opportunities and adventures that were never a part of my world, but many days I wonder if those will make up for a culture of nature and innocence and meaningful work that were my whole world once upon a time.