Everyone has something which they identify with; some sort of cultural aspect which they call their own. Despite popular belief, parents do not always share the same cultural roots as their children; this is increasingly the case with the millennial generation.
But you can't blame us; even if we grew up in the same town that our parents did, went to the same high school, are familiar with the same families, we are still not in the same world as the generation before us.Whether that world is one of progress or poison, well... that's another post.
Should we live out the culture of our parents and their parents before them by using it as our own, wearing it out? Or should we frame it and sit looking at it from a distance, recognizing it but never touching it?
I strongly identify with the themes brought up by this work; growing up in the modern day and age is more complicated when you get past just scratching at the surface. For me, it has never really been an ethnicity thing; as a European mutt, there is not much colorful ethnic tradition in which to partake. It has always been an issue of ideals, interests and priorities. For example, growing up knowing the very Southern way of life which was taught to me by my mother deeply juxtaposes that of the somewhat harsh cosmopolitan world which I am thrust into daily.
I cannot tell you how many times I had been denied permission to go to so and so’s birthday party as a child because, “Christina, it’s on a Sunday. Sunday is the day of rest.” But don't get me wrong, there are aspects of my parent's culture that I love; I love how I sit down and have dinner with my mother, my father, my sister, and my brother and eat dinner and talk and laugh, while a good quarter to a half of my friends have had to go through and experience the divorce of their parents.
There are things which we pick up from our folks that we don't even notice; like my mother's loud and slow Alabama drawl that slips out when she's talking on the phone to her mother, the same with my father and his upstate- New York speed speak with his mother. Like the fact that has been pointed out to me that I cannot survive without a cup of coffee in the morning (a trait of my mother), or the fact that I speak fluent sarcasm (a trait of my father). But then there are the things that are completely and totally our own, mine being more of a right minded mentality: I paint, draw, write, and all that while my mother is a nursing instructor, my dad runs his own small business and my big brother is studying to be an engineer.
But that's just how it goes; some things just have to be your own, while others you take from here and there. Some things can't just be given, they have to be adopted. What I do for fun is my own, and who I hang out with is my own, my personality is my own. My political views, my idealogical beliefs, and even my religion, though they are major similarities and samenesses to that of the people who raised me, I came to on my own; I had to! How can you believe something wholeheartedly if you didn't come to the conclusion yourself?
I guess the point that I'm trying to make is this; although your roots are different than that of your family, you have to find a way of your own to connect back to that culture and to truly make it your own. I carry my head high with a cup of coffee in my hand, The Beatles streaming in through my headphones (can't get enough of the classic rock my dad taught me to love when I was still just a mini- Christina), and the tiniest bit of both of my parent's accents that slip out from time to time, while still being the paint covered- indie rock loving girl that I am.
The way to truly appreciate aspects of your parent's culture is not to force it, or to put it on display, but rather to intertwine it into your own.
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