Memories lie, simple as that. Memories shape most of who we are, and what we know, but they can also lie to us. Memories are very subjective, being influenced by a person’s beliefs and even their desires, rather than objective, which is set in stone, a known fact. Because most memories are seen subjectively, our own memories lie to us in some way.
However, in the case of Douglas Bruce, he sees much of the world objectively. It is his first time seeing things, as far as he knows, so he sees them for what they are mainly. Children see the world in a much more subjective manner. With the mirror experiment, children saw another person in the mirror, or saw the ink on their nose as a problem with the mirror rather than themselves. Learning that the smudge is on themselves gives them experience in knowing how to use a mirror in the future.
Memory is the only way we gain experience. You know not to touch a hot plate because it will burn, because you’ve been told or gotten burnt before. Many things you don’t consciously remember learning about, but the knowledge is still somewhere that is recalled without trying to remember.
Memory is a flawed process, but it’s no more than a complex biological machine, and with any complex machine all parts have to work perfectly together to make it work. Due to the fact that it can’t work perfectly, and we see things subjectively, memory does a good job at lying to us, because a lot of the times we don’t have anyone to prove us wrong.
Drew Allison
English 289-005
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
What’s Your Heritage?
“What kind of Italian are you?!” My father would always ask me that question after I would refuse to eat spaghetti for dinner. He always dwelled on the fact that we’re a bunch of Greeks, raised in Italy, and brought to the United States. My dad would always tell us the story as he remembered it about his own father’s history, but imagine the shock our family felt when my uncle Bob’s new wife, Gerry, did her research only to find we were actually born Italian.
The story my dad held on to was that his father was born in Greece with the last name of Camprelli. His family moved to Italy when he was just a young boy, and aquired most of his memories as a child there. When he was a teenager, his parents passed away and his sister, who had married an American man, had him and his other siblings brought over to the United States to live with her. Upon reaching Ellis Island, apparently they couldn’t either pronounce or spell his last name, so they shortened it to Camp. He then met my grandmother while fighting one of the World Wars, they married, and began their family together. My aunt Gerry found that most of this history is accurate while she searched our family tree, with a slight mistake; turns out, my grandfather was actually born in Italy, raised in Greece, and then brought over to the United States.
My father still embraces his Italian heritage just as much as he had before, but his Greek heritage now shows just as much. He has filled our house’s landscape with Greek statues for decoration, and loves to have Italian food served for dinner. We always knew that we had both of those nationalities in our history, but it was interesting to know that my blood was more Italian than it was Greek.
Julie Camp
Section 289-012
The story my dad held on to was that his father was born in Greece with the last name of Camprelli. His family moved to Italy when he was just a young boy, and aquired most of his memories as a child there. When he was a teenager, his parents passed away and his sister, who had married an American man, had him and his other siblings brought over to the United States to live with her. Upon reaching Ellis Island, apparently they couldn’t either pronounce or spell his last name, so they shortened it to Camp. He then met my grandmother while fighting one of the World Wars, they married, and began their family together. My aunt Gerry found that most of this history is accurate while she searched our family tree, with a slight mistake; turns out, my grandfather was actually born in Italy, raised in Greece, and then brought over to the United States.
My father still embraces his Italian heritage just as much as he had before, but his Greek heritage now shows just as much. He has filled our house’s landscape with Greek statues for decoration, and loves to have Italian food served for dinner. We always knew that we had both of those nationalities in our history, but it was interesting to know that my blood was more Italian than it was Greek.
Julie Camp
Section 289-012
Port 1 -Suzan Sucro
Suzan Sucro
6 October 2009
Intermediate Composition
Professor Domet
Portfolio 1 Topic 1
A Little Curry Goes a Long Way
I was always a finicky eater; I refused to eat anything besides what I deemed “normal” food. The first time I ate anything out of the ordinary was at the ripe old age of eighteen; it was Indian and it was phenomenal. It still amazes me that having done something as small and insignificant as trying a new food could lead to a complete change in my views and interests in other cultures, thereby changing my identity.
Before my forced Indian experience, I wouldn’t eat anything cultural. I mean I wouldn’t even eat Taco Bell unless it was the nachos and cheese. I was young and close minded; I wasn’t interested in other cultures or their food for that matter. Eating the chicken curry and na’an that fateful winter day encouraged me to try other unique foods. I started eating Mexican, Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Greek and anything else I could get my hands on. Once I was aware of how great the food was elsewhere, I started to get more interested in the cultural traits as well. It was like accepting one thing caused a domino effect. I developed a desire to travel, and did. I started with France, continued to Germany, and most recently stayed in Mexico. The different lifestyles and cultural values were just as unique and amazing as the food.
My memory, regardless of how boring it may seem, is completely clear and changed the way I view the world. I am a much more open minded person with an eagerness to try new things. Small things can make an enormous impact if they show you a side of yourself you never knew; that’s what trying a little Indian food did for me.
6 October 2009
Intermediate Composition
Professor Domet
Portfolio 1 Topic 1
A Little Curry Goes a Long Way
I was always a finicky eater; I refused to eat anything besides what I deemed “normal” food. The first time I ate anything out of the ordinary was at the ripe old age of eighteen; it was Indian and it was phenomenal. It still amazes me that having done something as small and insignificant as trying a new food could lead to a complete change in my views and interests in other cultures, thereby changing my identity.
Before my forced Indian experience, I wouldn’t eat anything cultural. I mean I wouldn’t even eat Taco Bell unless it was the nachos and cheese. I was young and close minded; I wasn’t interested in other cultures or their food for that matter. Eating the chicken curry and na’an that fateful winter day encouraged me to try other unique foods. I started eating Mexican, Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Greek and anything else I could get my hands on. Once I was aware of how great the food was elsewhere, I started to get more interested in the cultural traits as well. It was like accepting one thing caused a domino effect. I developed a desire to travel, and did. I started with France, continued to Germany, and most recently stayed in Mexico. The different lifestyles and cultural values were just as unique and amazing as the food.
My memory, regardless of how boring it may seem, is completely clear and changed the way I view the world. I am a much more open minded person with an eagerness to try new things. Small things can make an enormous impact if they show you a side of yourself you never knew; that’s what trying a little Indian food did for me.
portfolio 1
Nathan Heimann
Professor Domet
English 289 (012)
Portfolio ONE
October 9, 2009
Sold My Soul for Rock N’ Roll
In the words of Joan Jett, “I Love Rock N’ Roll!” Since I was a young child, I always took an interest in music. It was the night of my first rock concert that interest turned into something much greater. My first rock show was Matchbox 20 at Blossom Music Center in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. It was this show that would forever impact my memory and give a major contribution to my identity.
I was in seventh grade at the time and this show was my first taste of what a big rock n’ roll show was like. I will never forget what it felt like when nearly 20,000 people rose to their feet and cheered with wild excitement as Matchbox 20 took the stage. One specific song from that night that stands out in my memory was a cover of “Let It Be” by Rob Thomas. I witnessed firsthand how a single song can impact the moods of thousands of people all at once. From that moment on, I became completely engulfed in music and live concerts. To this day I have been to more shows than I can remember, but I would guess somewhere around 50 or 60. This memory had such a big impact on my identity because it gave me a big part of who I am today. Going to a live show is my favorite thing to do for fun and Blossom Music Center has been established as my favorite venue to see a concert. Since the time of the event, the memory has remained the same in my mind. I get the same feeling of intoxication thinking about it today as I did eight years ago. I love Rock N’ Roll music to no end and forever give a part of my soul to watching it be performed live.
Professor Domet
English 289 (012)
Portfolio ONE
October 9, 2009
Sold My Soul for Rock N’ Roll
In the words of Joan Jett, “I Love Rock N’ Roll!” Since I was a young child, I always took an interest in music. It was the night of my first rock concert that interest turned into something much greater. My first rock show was Matchbox 20 at Blossom Music Center in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. It was this show that would forever impact my memory and give a major contribution to my identity.
I was in seventh grade at the time and this show was my first taste of what a big rock n’ roll show was like. I will never forget what it felt like when nearly 20,000 people rose to their feet and cheered with wild excitement as Matchbox 20 took the stage. One specific song from that night that stands out in my memory was a cover of “Let It Be” by Rob Thomas. I witnessed firsthand how a single song can impact the moods of thousands of people all at once. From that moment on, I became completely engulfed in music and live concerts. To this day I have been to more shows than I can remember, but I would guess somewhere around 50 or 60. This memory had such a big impact on my identity because it gave me a big part of who I am today. Going to a live show is my favorite thing to do for fun and Blossom Music Center has been established as my favorite venue to see a concert. Since the time of the event, the memory has remained the same in my mind. I get the same feeling of intoxication thinking about it today as I did eight years ago. I love Rock N’ Roll music to no end and forever give a part of my soul to watching it be performed live.
In Trouble With The Cops
“Mom. I just got questioned by the cops for prostitution.” That is a statement that some parents would find extremely ridiculous. As a person through out the years I have always tried to be very popular, but different and ridiculous. Different can be a good thing. Especially if you grow up inspiring to be a big, famous, movie star. It takes a lot of confidence to act in front of a camera and there is one memory that will always stick with me. I was a freshman in high school the first time I ever did any serious acting behind a camera. I played sports and had all athletic friends, but I always liked trying different things. Certain memories surely define who we are with our identity.
I have this cousin who is a few years older and has become very successful in Ohio with film production, commercials, and other forms of media. He’s been good enough to have his projects sell for thousands of dollars, and he is only 23. I got to be a part of one of his first projects, which was a movie we made for fun. The script was that of a cheesy kung fu movie based in the 70’s. My character was like the Karate Kid since I was only 15, and the first scene we shot of me was in downtown Dayton, Ohio. We picked a really run down neighborhood for a fight scene, and I had to wear super short spandex shorts and no shirt. I had to fight an older guy who also had super short shorts and honestly, they were a little too revealing. It was about 9:00 at night and this white van kept driving in circles around the building we snuck into. We weren’t really supposed to be in the building, so we got pretty nervous seeing this van consistently run circles around it. About an hour later we were still filming and three police cars with their lights come speeding up to talk to us. I was freaking out because I’d never been in trouble before and thought my Mom would kill me. It turns out that the rundown area we were shooting the movie in had been having a lot of problems with prostitution. The white van called 911 because they thought we were prostitutes. The cops actually questioned why a 15 year old was being filmed shirtless and wearing short shorts because they thought I was a prostitute. It was probably one of the most awkward, but hilarious moments of my life. I loved calling my Mom and telling her I just got questioned by the cops for being a prostitute. She just rolled her eyes and didn’t believe me.
This memory is very closely connected to my identity because I believe being different can lead to good times and this is just one small example of my adventures. I’ve always tried to live my life like that and it’s brought me a lot of happiness. Especially when I think of the future and who I want to be. I guess looking back on it that would have been pretty bad if we actually got charged for trespassing or even the ridiculousness of prostitution, but it will always be a funny memory. A memory that gives me part of my identity.
Kyle Brock
English 289
I have this cousin who is a few years older and has become very successful in Ohio with film production, commercials, and other forms of media. He’s been good enough to have his projects sell for thousands of dollars, and he is only 23. I got to be a part of one of his first projects, which was a movie we made for fun. The script was that of a cheesy kung fu movie based in the 70’s. My character was like the Karate Kid since I was only 15, and the first scene we shot of me was in downtown Dayton, Ohio. We picked a really run down neighborhood for a fight scene, and I had to wear super short spandex shorts and no shirt. I had to fight an older guy who also had super short shorts and honestly, they were a little too revealing. It was about 9:00 at night and this white van kept driving in circles around the building we snuck into. We weren’t really supposed to be in the building, so we got pretty nervous seeing this van consistently run circles around it. About an hour later we were still filming and three police cars with their lights come speeding up to talk to us. I was freaking out because I’d never been in trouble before and thought my Mom would kill me. It turns out that the rundown area we were shooting the movie in had been having a lot of problems with prostitution. The white van called 911 because they thought we were prostitutes. The cops actually questioned why a 15 year old was being filmed shirtless and wearing short shorts because they thought I was a prostitute. It was probably one of the most awkward, but hilarious moments of my life. I loved calling my Mom and telling her I just got questioned by the cops for being a prostitute. She just rolled her eyes and didn’t believe me.
This memory is very closely connected to my identity because I believe being different can lead to good times and this is just one small example of my adventures. I’ve always tried to live my life like that and it’s brought me a lot of happiness. Especially when I think of the future and who I want to be. I guess looking back on it that would have been pretty bad if we actually got charged for trespassing or even the ridiculousness of prostitution, but it will always be a funny memory. A memory that gives me part of my identity.
Kyle Brock
English 289
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Chicago, Mahler, and Purpose
Chicago, Mahler, and Purpose
When I was in the eleventh grade, I had no idea what I wanted to do in college. In my high school concert band, we were playing a lot of serious orchestral rep, and I always really enjoyed it, but I never seriously considered that as a career. Later that year, we took a trip to Chicago that not only shaped my identity; it created my identity, at least in a professional sense.
It was a Saturday night, and we were going to see the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. I know this probably doesn’t sound like the most interesting activity for a high schooler in a big city on a Saturday night, but it was the highlight of my trip. We sat in the terrace, behind the orchestra, so we could see the conductor and I had a pristine view of the percussion section. They played Mahler’s Fourth Symphony, and even today that piece feels really special to me. It changed my life; this was the first time that I could see myself as a percussionist. After that night, I knew that this was what I was meant to spend the rest of my life pursuing.
I can vividly remember standing on the sidewalk after the concert and thinking, “This is it. This is what it feels like to know where you belong.” I told my band director right then, and he’s been nothing but supportive. Although the memory probably stands out as much more significant in my mind than it actually was, that night was definitely the night when the rest of my life’s course was decided.
Keaton N.
When I was in the eleventh grade, I had no idea what I wanted to do in college. In my high school concert band, we were playing a lot of serious orchestral rep, and I always really enjoyed it, but I never seriously considered that as a career. Later that year, we took a trip to Chicago that not only shaped my identity; it created my identity, at least in a professional sense.
It was a Saturday night, and we were going to see the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. I know this probably doesn’t sound like the most interesting activity for a high schooler in a big city on a Saturday night, but it was the highlight of my trip. We sat in the terrace, behind the orchestra, so we could see the conductor and I had a pristine view of the percussion section. They played Mahler’s Fourth Symphony, and even today that piece feels really special to me. It changed my life; this was the first time that I could see myself as a percussionist. After that night, I knew that this was what I was meant to spend the rest of my life pursuing.
I can vividly remember standing on the sidewalk after the concert and thinking, “This is it. This is what it feels like to know where you belong.” I told my band director right then, and he’s been nothing but supportive. Although the memory probably stands out as much more significant in my mind than it actually was, that night was definitely the night when the rest of my life’s course was decided.
Keaton N.
Listen with your Eyes
“…Listen with your Eyes…”
I recall with clarity a formative moment for my identity that happened just over fourteen years ago. I remember my doctor explaining and then showing on a cross-section diagram exactly what was wrong with my right ear. I remember nearly all of what he said next, mostly because I have had to keep it in mind every day of my life since. He told me how I needed to be careful all the time, and that I was going to have to compensate for the hearing loss by using my eyes to look out for possible danger (see title) and training my other ear to listen constantly for specific sounds like cars and sirens. He told me to be up-front with people about my hearing, and to sit in the front row in my classes.
Not all memories serve to define a person or become part of his or her identity; memories such as above, however, usually do. I would love to say I remember the doctor’s office clearly, but the truth is I only remember the exam room, my mother tearing up, the dialogue, and the diagram of the inner ear the doctor was pointing to (the cochlea, to be specific; one of mine is malformed). The things I took away from that conversation are unquestionably a large part of my identity; I have had to keep them in mind constantly, because the consequences of not doing so could be anything from having trouble carrying on a conversation at dinner to being hit by a car I did not hear pulling out. Memory is the process by which we catalog the things we learn from experience and incorporate that knowledge into our day-to-day interactions with the world.
Neil Spataro
English 289-014
I recall with clarity a formative moment for my identity that happened just over fourteen years ago. I remember my doctor explaining and then showing on a cross-section diagram exactly what was wrong with my right ear. I remember nearly all of what he said next, mostly because I have had to keep it in mind every day of my life since. He told me how I needed to be careful all the time, and that I was going to have to compensate for the hearing loss by using my eyes to look out for possible danger (see title) and training my other ear to listen constantly for specific sounds like cars and sirens. He told me to be up-front with people about my hearing, and to sit in the front row in my classes.
Not all memories serve to define a person or become part of his or her identity; memories such as above, however, usually do. I would love to say I remember the doctor’s office clearly, but the truth is I only remember the exam room, my mother tearing up, the dialogue, and the diagram of the inner ear the doctor was pointing to (the cochlea, to be specific; one of mine is malformed). The things I took away from that conversation are unquestionably a large part of my identity; I have had to keep them in mind constantly, because the consequences of not doing so could be anything from having trouble carrying on a conversation at dinner to being hit by a car I did not hear pulling out. Memory is the process by which we catalog the things we learn from experience and incorporate that knowledge into our day-to-day interactions with the world.
Neil Spataro
English 289-014
She is Everything I am
She is Everything I am
March 19, 2009 , at 3:14 pm my entire life had changed, it would never be the same again. Nor longer can I live the care free spirited life of a college student or enjoy the many shopping sprees of my paychecks. The person I once was had disappeared in matter of minutes. When I had my daughter I was nor longer Mallori, I had become her mother. I am defined as being Mariyah’s mother. The nine months and the thirteen hours spent in labor wanting to see her made me a stronger and wiser person. Through out the nine months I ate Penn Station and Greaters Black Raspberry chip ice cream every other day. The days of being Mallori had deceased because I was nor longer my main concern.
The anticipation of labor last throughout the whole nine months. The butterflies became kicks and silence of the womb becomes her cries. I was nervous because I did not know what to expect. Labor had seemed extremely dreadful and painful. I had nightmares of being at work or in class and my water breaking. I was about thirty - nine weeks pregnant when my doctor decided to induce my labor. I was four days away from my due date, however it was to unsure the safety of the baby. Through out the thirteen hours of endless pain my back was strapped to the bed. I couldn’t sleep because each arm and my stomach had some type of monitor attached to it, so when I or the baby moved it beeped.
After three hours of pain, I decided to get an epidural. It was a long and wide needle that was stuck into the middle of my spine. The procedure lasted about five minutes. Once the pain from the needle disappeared, the epidural had kicked in. I could no longer feel the pain of the contractions. While my boyfriend slept on the chair right next to me, and my mother teased me with the food she ate, I was ready to push the baby out. A hour later Mariyah and I had finally met. Going through the challenges of pregnancy and labor has defined me as a person because I know what I went through in order to have her in my life. Looking back on the experience now , I wouldn’t have traded it for the world. The memory of labor is more humorous now because of all I realize how nervous I was about being a mother. Now that she is here I feel as though I was already a mother when she was in my stomach.
As she lie on my chest sleeping carelessly, and felt my tears slowly fall on her cheeks, I knew that my life had changed. I had never went through so much pain in life. She was very small and had all the innocence in the world. In matter of minutes I was a new person. A stronger person and wiser person. The experience of being a mother is what makes up a lot of who I am. When I became a mother I gave up my freedom to do what most people my age do. I learned to become a more responsible person and I turned my mistake into a lesson learned. Even though I was not ready to be a mother, I did not give up, and I never will. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to the old me, but I am thankful that I am well acquainted with the person I become.
March 19, 2009 , at 3:14 pm my entire life had changed, it would never be the same again. Nor longer can I live the care free spirited life of a college student or enjoy the many shopping sprees of my paychecks. The person I once was had disappeared in matter of minutes. When I had my daughter I was nor longer Mallori, I had become her mother. I am defined as being Mariyah’s mother. The nine months and the thirteen hours spent in labor wanting to see her made me a stronger and wiser person. Through out the nine months I ate Penn Station and Greaters Black Raspberry chip ice cream every other day. The days of being Mallori had deceased because I was nor longer my main concern.
The anticipation of labor last throughout the whole nine months. The butterflies became kicks and silence of the womb becomes her cries. I was nervous because I did not know what to expect. Labor had seemed extremely dreadful and painful. I had nightmares of being at work or in class and my water breaking. I was about thirty - nine weeks pregnant when my doctor decided to induce my labor. I was four days away from my due date, however it was to unsure the safety of the baby. Through out the thirteen hours of endless pain my back was strapped to the bed. I couldn’t sleep because each arm and my stomach had some type of monitor attached to it, so when I or the baby moved it beeped.
After three hours of pain, I decided to get an epidural. It was a long and wide needle that was stuck into the middle of my spine. The procedure lasted about five minutes. Once the pain from the needle disappeared, the epidural had kicked in. I could no longer feel the pain of the contractions. While my boyfriend slept on the chair right next to me, and my mother teased me with the food she ate, I was ready to push the baby out. A hour later Mariyah and I had finally met. Going through the challenges of pregnancy and labor has defined me as a person because I know what I went through in order to have her in my life. Looking back on the experience now , I wouldn’t have traded it for the world. The memory of labor is more humorous now because of all I realize how nervous I was about being a mother. Now that she is here I feel as though I was already a mother when she was in my stomach.
As she lie on my chest sleeping carelessly, and felt my tears slowly fall on her cheeks, I knew that my life had changed. I had never went through so much pain in life. She was very small and had all the innocence in the world. In matter of minutes I was a new person. A stronger person and wiser person. The experience of being a mother is what makes up a lot of who I am. When I became a mother I gave up my freedom to do what most people my age do. I learned to become a more responsible person and I turned my mistake into a lesson learned. Even though I was not ready to be a mother, I did not give up, and I never will. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to the old me, but I am thankful that I am well acquainted with the person I become.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
what history?
To me, I have no family history. I grew up not knowing much about either side of my family’s history. What I know are just broad generalizations about my family’s past and how we got to where we are today. What I can remember comes from not a first hand memory, but some stories that my parents have told me over the years. Most of my personal memories about my family only include my immediate family.
What little I know includes my crazy and loud Italian side of the family that belongs to my mother. The majority of the Frioni family members live in Pennsylvania and because there are so many of them, the city throws a special parade just for them. Unfortunately, I happen to know almost nothing about my father’s side of the family. My family’s history is not part of who I am because I grew up learning only from my immediate family. I was not raised with any special family traditions or know anything about our culture; therefore, my identity has been formed with the morals and ethics that my own two parents have taught me on their own. Our traditions, such as how we spend our holidays, having a family dinner ever Sunday night, and other little things have started with my parents and will continue on through my own children.
Although I do know not know much about my heritage, I have formed my own identity through my experiences, my immediate family’s experiences, and my memory of these experiences. I feel that a person does not need to know much about their family’s history in order to form their own sense of self. A person’s identity is something that belongs to them and is not influenced by other things.
Rachael Renfrrow
English 289-012
What little I know includes my crazy and loud Italian side of the family that belongs to my mother. The majority of the Frioni family members live in Pennsylvania and because there are so many of them, the city throws a special parade just for them. Unfortunately, I happen to know almost nothing about my father’s side of the family. My family’s history is not part of who I am because I grew up learning only from my immediate family. I was not raised with any special family traditions or know anything about our culture; therefore, my identity has been formed with the morals and ethics that my own two parents have taught me on their own. Our traditions, such as how we spend our holidays, having a family dinner ever Sunday night, and other little things have started with my parents and will continue on through my own children.
Although I do know not know much about my heritage, I have formed my own identity through my experiences, my immediate family’s experiences, and my memory of these experiences. I feel that a person does not need to know much about their family’s history in order to form their own sense of self. A person’s identity is something that belongs to them and is not influenced by other things.
Rachael Renfrrow
English 289-012
Experience Through Memory
Memory has more of an impact on our identity than most would think. Memory shapes our identity through the experiences we have had in the past, and through the lessons we have learned from these experiences. Memory not only shows us what we have done in the past, but tells us why we did it and how we went about doing it. It makes us think about what was happening at that point in time that caused the experience you had to play out the way it did. These experiences stay with us throughout our lives and help shape who we are and how we act.
In the case of the video we watched in class about the “Unknown White Male,” if we assume that he did lose his memory then we can see that he had no memory from that point on. Because of this, he saw the world completely fresh and new. Everything was a new experience for him. We have no idea what kind of man he was before this experience, and only know of the man who has no memory. However in the reading about the boy and his family and his memories about language, we can see that this experience definitely affected him in some way. He sees this experience from his own point of view and will always remember it that way, while his family may remember it differently.
Our identities can be shaped by the memories we have, or the memories we have forgotten. The things you remember and forget change how you see the world and often how you see yourself. I don’t believe that this sense of identity can be achieved unless memory was involved in some way.
David W.
Eng 289-014
In the case of the video we watched in class about the “Unknown White Male,” if we assume that he did lose his memory then we can see that he had no memory from that point on. Because of this, he saw the world completely fresh and new. Everything was a new experience for him. We have no idea what kind of man he was before this experience, and only know of the man who has no memory. However in the reading about the boy and his family and his memories about language, we can see that this experience definitely affected him in some way. He sees this experience from his own point of view and will always remember it that way, while his family may remember it differently.
Our identities can be shaped by the memories we have, or the memories we have forgotten. The things you remember and forget change how you see the world and often how you see yourself. I don’t believe that this sense of identity can be achieved unless memory was involved in some way.
David W.
Eng 289-014
Who Am I?
Memory and identity; what are they? Memory is defined as “the mental capacity or faculty of retaining and reviving facts, events, impressions, etc., or of recalling or recognizing previous experiences” (dictionary.com) and identity as “the condition of being oneself or itself, and not another” (dictionary.com); but to people, these two words’ definitions are more fluid. Furthermore, the link between the two and how close their relationship is to each is more intricate than defining what they are separately.
According to the video How Does Your Memory Work, “Your memory is you.” This would mean that the very memories that one possesses becomes part of the foundation in which a person’s identity is established upon; I agree. Memories in our consciousness can inevitably become subconsciously embedded in our personality, such as our manners and values, and effectively our identity in both our eyes, as well as others. However, “ a sense of self is necessary before children can start to form memories” (Memory Work). This shows that both memory and identity need to coexist, and one might have a faulty existence, if it can exist at all, without the other.
When a person loses memory, it can be detrimental to his very identity, especially if it is an established adult. One such adult is Douglas Bruce “who lost all thirty-five years of his life”, and has to re-learn everything. “Doug now saw the world with the eyes of a newborn baby, but with appreciated with a mind of an adult” (Unknown White Male). I believe Doug is a strong example of how closely linked memory and identity is. Doug still has a sense of self, but he has to re-learn who he is, what he likes, and re-establish himself as himself, or become a total different person than what he was before.
The relationship between memory and identity is shrouded in mystery for the most part due to the complexities involving both, and scientists are only starting unravel them. However, for most people, including both are so second nature that they do not even think about them.
According to the video How Does Your Memory Work, “Your memory is you.” This would mean that the very memories that one possesses becomes part of the foundation in which a person’s identity is established upon; I agree. Memories in our consciousness can inevitably become subconsciously embedded in our personality, such as our manners and values, and effectively our identity in both our eyes, as well as others. However, “ a sense of self is necessary before children can start to form memories” (Memory Work). This shows that both memory and identity need to coexist, and one might have a faulty existence, if it can exist at all, without the other.
When a person loses memory, it can be detrimental to his very identity, especially if it is an established adult. One such adult is Douglas Bruce “who lost all thirty-five years of his life”, and has to re-learn everything. “Doug now saw the world with the eyes of a newborn baby, but with appreciated with a mind of an adult” (Unknown White Male). I believe Doug is a strong example of how closely linked memory and identity is. Doug still has a sense of self, but he has to re-learn who he is, what he likes, and re-establish himself as himself, or become a total different person than what he was before.
The relationship between memory and identity is shrouded in mystery for the most part due to the complexities involving both, and scientists are only starting unravel them. However, for most people, including both are so second nature that they do not even think about them.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Where The Wild Things Are
I’m a trouble maker. I always have been. I was a tomboy growing up and longed to be like one of the boys, even cutting my hair ridiculously short. My fondest childhood memory is one that my dad still loves to remind me of and really defines me as a whole…that of a mischievous little hoodlum at heart. My memory sums up my identity as a child who loved the outdoors and loved to stir things up even more. It all started on one fateful summer evening when I was forced to prove myself as a true wild child.
The boys and I loved to rough around the neighborhood and look for forts to make or trees to climb, these trees tended to turn into people’s roofs. We would run around, sticks in hand, screaming and throwing dirt at each other. I thought it was so cool that the older boys let me play with them. Little did I know it was only conditional…I was told I had to prove myself to them. We found ourselves in an alleyway in which I was prohibited to play . The boys started throwing rocks down a hill. At the end of this hill was an apartment complex, the boys kept throwing rocks and then looked at me expectantly. Not wanting to look like the weakest link I picked up the biggest rock I could find and chucked it down the hill. Just as it skid towards the bottom it suddenly flew up, hit and shattered this man’s window. Being great friends, the boys ran off screaming to their houses as this man was threatening to call the police on us hoodlums. I was terrified AND left alone to defend my own honor. Taking one look at the irate man, I ran home crying. I remember my heart was beating so fast and I didn’t look back as I ran home. I went inside and leapt over our couch and then proceeded to try and hide under it as I screamed to my dad , “Hide me, hide me, the cops are after me!” My dad couldn’t stop laughing and needless to say those cops never did show up.
I never again went to that alleyway and thankfully I had not only not been arrested, but also proven myself as a bonafide mischievous hoodlum. This event sparked the beginning of an exciting, more free era for me, a new “super” identity if you will. I am defined by this memory as it helps me get over my fears today. Of course as I tell the story today I tend to elaborate on the severity of the issue and over exaggerate the event as a whole, but it makes for a better story the more dramatic I tell my “wild” tale.
Sarah L.; 005
The boys and I loved to rough around the neighborhood and look for forts to make or trees to climb, these trees tended to turn into people’s roofs. We would run around, sticks in hand, screaming and throwing dirt at each other. I thought it was so cool that the older boys let me play with them. Little did I know it was only conditional…I was told I had to prove myself to them. We found ourselves in an alleyway in which I was prohibited to play . The boys started throwing rocks down a hill. At the end of this hill was an apartment complex, the boys kept throwing rocks and then looked at me expectantly. Not wanting to look like the weakest link I picked up the biggest rock I could find and chucked it down the hill. Just as it skid towards the bottom it suddenly flew up, hit and shattered this man’s window. Being great friends, the boys ran off screaming to their houses as this man was threatening to call the police on us hoodlums. I was terrified AND left alone to defend my own honor. Taking one look at the irate man, I ran home crying. I remember my heart was beating so fast and I didn’t look back as I ran home. I went inside and leapt over our couch and then proceeded to try and hide under it as I screamed to my dad , “Hide me, hide me, the cops are after me!” My dad couldn’t stop laughing and needless to say those cops never did show up.
I never again went to that alleyway and thankfully I had not only not been arrested, but also proven myself as a bonafide mischievous hoodlum. This event sparked the beginning of an exciting, more free era for me, a new “super” identity if you will. I am defined by this memory as it helps me get over my fears today. Of course as I tell the story today I tend to elaborate on the severity of the issue and over exaggerate the event as a whole, but it makes for a better story the more dramatic I tell my “wild” tale.
Sarah L.; 005
Introspection and Reflection
As a person, I have been shaped and molded by various aspects and experiences during my life. Family and friends, as well as organizations have had an impact on my memory, as well as my identity. One Organization that has helped me become who I am is the Civil Air Patrol. Without the CAP, I cannot fathom who I would be, what I would be like, and how my decisions might have changed.
One memory that is permanently etched into my brain relates to an activity called Pre-Encampment. Encampment is a week long boot camp for CAP cadets wanting to get promoted. Group 1 of CAP (our tri-county region) decided to organize a Pre-Encampment over a weekend to help prepare cadets for the real thing. It turns out that the real thing was a heck of a lot easier than Pre-Encampment was. At the Pre-Encampment, we were given old smelly military cots to sleep on and a recycling bin as a foot locker. We were rushed out onto the tarmac to be yelled at by the first sergeant, and bunked up in a small meeting room in the Blue Ash Air National Guard Base. We were awoken by an assault on the barracks by perpetrators wearing Gas masks and carrying massive supersoakers. All our bedding got wet, and we had to sleep the rest of the night on the bare cots. We had to wake up in the morning at 5am to run 2 miles, do countless numbers of push-ups, sit-ups, etc. Pre-Encampment broke up down and built us back up to be stronger, both mentally and physically, and more mature. I was 13 when I went through Pre-Encampment. I can still remember the smells, how it felt to be soaked all night long, and how great it felt to succeed. I look back and smile at those times.
My experiences in CAP shaped who I am today, and I am thankful that I was a part of such a wonderful program. After 5 years I was made Cadet Commander of GLR-OH-078 at the rank of Captain. I will never forget these memories. They were some of the best years of my life…so far!
-Michael Purvis Section 005
One memory that is permanently etched into my brain relates to an activity called Pre-Encampment. Encampment is a week long boot camp for CAP cadets wanting to get promoted. Group 1 of CAP (our tri-county region) decided to organize a Pre-Encampment over a weekend to help prepare cadets for the real thing. It turns out that the real thing was a heck of a lot easier than Pre-Encampment was. At the Pre-Encampment, we were given old smelly military cots to sleep on and a recycling bin as a foot locker. We were rushed out onto the tarmac to be yelled at by the first sergeant, and bunked up in a small meeting room in the Blue Ash Air National Guard Base. We were awoken by an assault on the barracks by perpetrators wearing Gas masks and carrying massive supersoakers. All our bedding got wet, and we had to sleep the rest of the night on the bare cots. We had to wake up in the morning at 5am to run 2 miles, do countless numbers of push-ups, sit-ups, etc. Pre-Encampment broke up down and built us back up to be stronger, both mentally and physically, and more mature. I was 13 when I went through Pre-Encampment. I can still remember the smells, how it felt to be soaked all night long, and how great it felt to succeed. I look back and smile at those times.
My experiences in CAP shaped who I am today, and I am thankful that I was a part of such a wonderful program. After 5 years I was made Cadet Commander of GLR-OH-078 at the rank of Captain. I will never forget these memories. They were some of the best years of my life…so far!
-Michael Purvis Section 005
Past Generations
Past Generations
Looking back on to my family history I can’t go further than my grandparents, because I really don’t know much before then. I know my father and his family grew up dirt poor out in Colerain when it was farmland, and they lived off what they grew. My mother is from a very wealthy family from Fort Thomas, Kentucky. When looking at my parent’s childhood they come from two different worlds, they were the complete opposite.
Both my grandfathers fought in World War II, my grandfather Megerle actually brought back Nazi knifes’ that we have at my parents house. I know from the stories, both grandfathers were hard working men that did everything to provide for their families. My grandpa Megerle was the town Sheriff of Fort Thomas for a while, and owned several banks, bars, and butcher shops. My mom talks about how some of the businesses they owned were connected to the Mob, and used for laundering money. We have pictures of my great aunt Mae and Uncle Bud playing poker with their neighbor Al Capone, we still have the poker table they played on.
Unlike my mothers side of the family my father’s side doesn’t have any cool Mob stories. My grandpa Wilcox did lose his arm while working in a steel factory, it was his writing hand so he had to learn how to function with the other. Grandpa actually returned to work for the company for the rest of his life. Both sides of my families are distant now, so it hard to really get a full understanding where I come from. One thing I do know, I come from a long line of hard working honest men and that is something I strive to be.
AMW
Looking back on to my family history I can’t go further than my grandparents, because I really don’t know much before then. I know my father and his family grew up dirt poor out in Colerain when it was farmland, and they lived off what they grew. My mother is from a very wealthy family from Fort Thomas, Kentucky. When looking at my parent’s childhood they come from two different worlds, they were the complete opposite.
Both my grandfathers fought in World War II, my grandfather Megerle actually brought back Nazi knifes’ that we have at my parents house. I know from the stories, both grandfathers were hard working men that did everything to provide for their families. My grandpa Megerle was the town Sheriff of Fort Thomas for a while, and owned several banks, bars, and butcher shops. My mom talks about how some of the businesses they owned were connected to the Mob, and used for laundering money. We have pictures of my great aunt Mae and Uncle Bud playing poker with their neighbor Al Capone, we still have the poker table they played on.
Unlike my mothers side of the family my father’s side doesn’t have any cool Mob stories. My grandpa Wilcox did lose his arm while working in a steel factory, it was his writing hand so he had to learn how to function with the other. Grandpa actually returned to work for the company for the rest of his life. Both sides of my families are distant now, so it hard to really get a full understanding where I come from. One thing I do know, I come from a long line of hard working honest men and that is something I strive to be.
AMW
Bound By Memories
Most people detest the idea of memory loss, but there are advantages to the loss of memory. Without memory of past events we can live freely without restrictions of any preconceived notions or stereotypes.
Our memory limits us from trying new things and exploring new experiences. To illustrate this thought we shall look at the video clip from Unknown White Male. After Doug lost his memory he viewed the world from a new perspective and was able to appreciate every detail. Doug had to taste different foods that he may have tasted before, again, for the first time. If he had not lost his memory he would have already known what foods he did not like and he may not have been able to explore them again with this newfound freedom. If you remember an event where you rode the roller coaster and threw up you are less likely to return to the amusement park and more likely to avoid roller coasters. If you forget this particular event however, you will be able to ride the roller coaster without any prejudice and less fear. This is an example of the limitations placed upon us by our memories.
Sure, it is great to have a recollection of fun events, spending time with loved ones, like the memory Richard Rodriguez discusses in Hunger of Memory, but beyond the good memories there are other memories that restrict us into behaving a certain way. I am not implying that we should forget these great memories, but we should not let our memories limit us to avoiding new experiences. Repressing the unwanted memories of the terrible roller coaster ride may be beneficial in allowing you to try it again and enjoy your self with your loved ones in the future.
Jasmine B. 289-014
Our memory limits us from trying new things and exploring new experiences. To illustrate this thought we shall look at the video clip from Unknown White Male. After Doug lost his memory he viewed the world from a new perspective and was able to appreciate every detail. Doug had to taste different foods that he may have tasted before, again, for the first time. If he had not lost his memory he would have already known what foods he did not like and he may not have been able to explore them again with this newfound freedom. If you remember an event where you rode the roller coaster and threw up you are less likely to return to the amusement park and more likely to avoid roller coasters. If you forget this particular event however, you will be able to ride the roller coaster without any prejudice and less fear. This is an example of the limitations placed upon us by our memories.
Sure, it is great to have a recollection of fun events, spending time with loved ones, like the memory Richard Rodriguez discusses in Hunger of Memory, but beyond the good memories there are other memories that restrict us into behaving a certain way. I am not implying that we should forget these great memories, but we should not let our memories limit us to avoiding new experiences. Repressing the unwanted memories of the terrible roller coaster ride may be beneficial in allowing you to try it again and enjoy your self with your loved ones in the future.
Jasmine B. 289-014
Same Place Different Story
They say “variety is the spice of life”, but not for the Loughrey Family. Almost every summer in July we pack our suitcases, load up the car and take the nine hour drive out to Ocean City, New Jersey. Most of my relatives live in Philadelphia so it’s the easiest place for us to meet up and usually my family’s only chance to see everyone during the year. Even though we always vacation in the same place, no two years are the same. The only thing better than the new memories we make there every summer are the embellished stories that get told about years before.
So many important moments in my brother and my childhood occurred while we were on vacation. Whether it was when he lost his first tooth or the time I got lost on the boardwalk, everything that happens get remembered and retold and elaborated each year to the point where nobody is sure the real details of what happened. One example is when my Uncle Bill helped a child up who had been choking on a little water in the ocean only to get swept off his feet himself by a wave and injure his neck on a sandbar. Eventually, the story turned into him running into the water to save a child from drowning and a colossal wave crashed down on him.
In the end, things like details can be sacrificed for bonding and laughter among family. While the destination can get redundant, the time spent with my relatives never is.
David L
014
So many important moments in my brother and my childhood occurred while we were on vacation. Whether it was when he lost his first tooth or the time I got lost on the boardwalk, everything that happens get remembered and retold and elaborated each year to the point where nobody is sure the real details of what happened. One example is when my Uncle Bill helped a child up who had been choking on a little water in the ocean only to get swept off his feet himself by a wave and injure his neck on a sandbar. Eventually, the story turned into him running into the water to save a child from drowning and a colossal wave crashed down on him.
In the end, things like details can be sacrificed for bonding and laughter among family. While the destination can get redundant, the time spent with my relatives never is.
David L
014
Fueled by Memory
“I sometimes find it difficult to remember names, and places, and sometimes to remember instructions…” This is how John Forbes, an English man, who has almost no memory, describes his inability to remember. Forbes must write everything he wants to remember down, even the instructions of which train, his only method of travel, to get on and how to get to it. The result of this is having a lack of or a weak personal identity. Without any memory, one has no personal identity, but rather only an external identity, as others see them.
In order to analyze the connection between memory and identity, I think it is important to first realize that there is more than one kind of identity. There is your personal, or first person, identity as you view yourself, and your external, or third person identity, as others view you. The average person has both of these, a view of themselves, and a view of how others see them. Our personal identity is defined by our memories and what we have learned from them. For example, in “Hunger of Memory” by Richard Rodriguez, Richard has a distinct and defined identity of himself as he recants his memories of his childhood to us. Without being able to learn and grow from our mistakes and our accomplishments we cannot gather an identity for ourselves. As an example, John Forbes, as mentioned above, has little to no memory. The only memories he has are those his mother has repeatedly told him over and over. Just by looking at John’s almost blank stare one can tell right away there is an emptiness or loss of personal identity. He knows who he is by name, but does not know who he is inside, or where he wants to go in life. With no memories of our family, friends, and experiences we have no idea of who we truly are. However, our external identity relies on the memories of others and regardless of our memory remains intact. Although our personal identity relies on us and our memories, our external identity only relies on how others see us, or their memories of us. In either case, whether it is our own memories of ourselves, or memories of others who have met us, our identity is fueled by memory.
Eamoe 014
In order to analyze the connection between memory and identity, I think it is important to first realize that there is more than one kind of identity. There is your personal, or first person, identity as you view yourself, and your external, or third person identity, as others view you. The average person has both of these, a view of themselves, and a view of how others see them. Our personal identity is defined by our memories and what we have learned from them. For example, in “Hunger of Memory” by Richard Rodriguez, Richard has a distinct and defined identity of himself as he recants his memories of his childhood to us. Without being able to learn and grow from our mistakes and our accomplishments we cannot gather an identity for ourselves. As an example, John Forbes, as mentioned above, has little to no memory. The only memories he has are those his mother has repeatedly told him over and over. Just by looking at John’s almost blank stare one can tell right away there is an emptiness or loss of personal identity. He knows who he is by name, but does not know who he is inside, or where he wants to go in life. With no memories of our family, friends, and experiences we have no idea of who we truly are. However, our external identity relies on the memories of others and regardless of our memory remains intact. Although our personal identity relies on us and our memories, our external identity only relies on how others see us, or their memories of us. In either case, whether it is our own memories of ourselves, or memories of others who have met us, our identity is fueled by memory.
Eamoe 014
Psychologically Embedded
Psychologically Embedded
Their hazing was nothing new to me, but that day, my basketball teammates cut completely through me twelve year old self-esteem. “I could feel myself psychologically collapsing, the combination of embarrassment and humiliation was far too overpowering for my feeble self-esteem.” This is the indescribable feeling that ran through my mind at the end of the year pool party for our basketball team. It was exactly how I felt at the time but unable to put it into words until looking back at it as a memory now.
It was a dry, uncomfortably humid summer day. I’m not sure if it was as hot as it felt, maybe it was just the nervousness setting in. I can still hear my excuses conforming to not take my shirt off as a harmless pool party soon turned into an eternal day of hell. My teammates had always teased me about being fat but that day at our end of the year party held by the parents at the local pool, they shattered me for life. When I took my shirt off, it felt like I was completely naked. They poked and laughed, it was nothing I wasn’t use to, but that day, twelve year olds turned into cannibals. I remember the exact moment that I completely and utterly crushed and I ran as fast as I could and jumped into the pool as the tears started to stream down my face.
At the age of twelve, my self-identity was destroyed, completely taken away from me. This moment in my life still today plays over and over in my head; I have not been the same since. The memory of that painful day describes my self-identity because I am extremely self conscious of my appearance. When I look into the mirror I still see that fat little kid that I once was. No matter how fit I strive to be, in my eyes I am still that fat kid that everyone points and laughs at.
AKO
Their hazing was nothing new to me, but that day, my basketball teammates cut completely through me twelve year old self-esteem. “I could feel myself psychologically collapsing, the combination of embarrassment and humiliation was far too overpowering for my feeble self-esteem.” This is the indescribable feeling that ran through my mind at the end of the year pool party for our basketball team. It was exactly how I felt at the time but unable to put it into words until looking back at it as a memory now.
It was a dry, uncomfortably humid summer day. I’m not sure if it was as hot as it felt, maybe it was just the nervousness setting in. I can still hear my excuses conforming to not take my shirt off as a harmless pool party soon turned into an eternal day of hell. My teammates had always teased me about being fat but that day at our end of the year party held by the parents at the local pool, they shattered me for life. When I took my shirt off, it felt like I was completely naked. They poked and laughed, it was nothing I wasn’t use to, but that day, twelve year olds turned into cannibals. I remember the exact moment that I completely and utterly crushed and I ran as fast as I could and jumped into the pool as the tears started to stream down my face.
At the age of twelve, my self-identity was destroyed, completely taken away from me. This moment in my life still today plays over and over in my head; I have not been the same since. The memory of that painful day describes my self-identity because I am extremely self conscious of my appearance. When I look into the mirror I still see that fat little kid that I once was. No matter how fit I strive to be, in my eyes I am still that fat kid that everyone points and laughs at.
AKO
Life Lesson #4
When I was younger my father and I were very close. He taught me serious life lessons that have gotten me through tough times. Although I am not that young anymore, and the relationship that was once there has dissipated, the memories that I have from what he taught me will stick with me forever. The man that I identify myself as today would not be here if it wasn’t for the memories that were made with him. Some lessons and memories are stronger than others but there is one that I will take to the grave.
It was midsummer and for the first time I was allowed to cut the grass by myself. I could feel the heat beating down as I was in an oven. There was a strong smell of mower exhaust mixed with fresh cut grass, and I was already tired with only half of the lawn cut. I began to speed up, not following the lines of the previous cut, and leaving spots uncut. I shut the mover off as I heard my father yelling at me “in this house you do a job 100% or not at all, half assing things only creates more work and shows you’re lazy.” From that day on I have rarely if ever not given 100% into anything that I do.
I may be an overachiever, a perfectionist, or just a hard worker, but I am not lazy. I’m an honest hardworking, do it the right way kind of man and if it wasn’t for my father’s lessons that I remember to the tee, I would not be the way I am.
JIM
It was midsummer and for the first time I was allowed to cut the grass by myself. I could feel the heat beating down as I was in an oven. There was a strong smell of mower exhaust mixed with fresh cut grass, and I was already tired with only half of the lawn cut. I began to speed up, not following the lines of the previous cut, and leaving spots uncut. I shut the mover off as I heard my father yelling at me “in this house you do a job 100% or not at all, half assing things only creates more work and shows you’re lazy.” From that day on I have rarely if ever not given 100% into anything that I do.
I may be an overachiever, a perfectionist, or just a hard worker, but I am not lazy. I’m an honest hardworking, do it the right way kind of man and if it wasn’t for my father’s lessons that I remember to the tee, I would not be the way I am.
JIM
Journey for a New Life
Imagine leaving the place you know and love, your family and friends, and your possessions with only the clothes on your back, entering an unfamiliar place where no one speaks the same language. For most of us, this is a situation in which we have never been placed, but for most of our ancestors, this was an unavoidable obstacle when they came to the United States from different corners of the world. Like thousands of others, my great grandparents came to U.S. in the 1920s from Eastern Germany. Their brave embark started the Oehler family history here in the United States, and collective memory has kept it alive to this day.
The little family history that has been passed down through the generations is this story, told in a recollection by my dad, of my great grandma's humor and rambunctious personality in dealing with settling in a new country. When deciding to make the journey, my great grandpa did not want to move, so my great grandma told him she would leave him and move for the opportunity whether he wanted to or not. After coming over, they worked in a meat shop and lived in everyday society, but my great grandmother had some trouble with her neighbors. One of them spilled pool water in her yard and killed her plants, so she took him to court and sued him. In addition, another neighbor purposely let his dog poop in her yard all the time. In retaliation, she put the poop on his porch, and in return was told "go back to your own country." Her personality is what helped her to deal with the stress of living on new land. Because I did not have the pleasure of meeting her, these stories I have committed to memory have been passed down to me from my dad.
My family's history lies in my great grandparent's brave journey to an unfamiliar land. Like most other history, it is based in what we learn and what we are told. Stories are passed down generation to generation and the general context is the same, but each generation perceives a story differently than the originally person might have. Because of secondary perception, this story could have possibly been missing pieces or exaggerated out of the original context. Despite these unwarranted factors, we would have no important family history without these stories.
Nicole O.
Section 012
The little family history that has been passed down through the generations is this story, told in a recollection by my dad, of my great grandma's humor and rambunctious personality in dealing with settling in a new country. When deciding to make the journey, my great grandpa did not want to move, so my great grandma told him she would leave him and move for the opportunity whether he wanted to or not. After coming over, they worked in a meat shop and lived in everyday society, but my great grandmother had some trouble with her neighbors. One of them spilled pool water in her yard and killed her plants, so she took him to court and sued him. In addition, another neighbor purposely let his dog poop in her yard all the time. In retaliation, she put the poop on his porch, and in return was told "go back to your own country." Her personality is what helped her to deal with the stress of living on new land. Because I did not have the pleasure of meeting her, these stories I have committed to memory have been passed down to me from my dad.
My family's history lies in my great grandparent's brave journey to an unfamiliar land. Like most other history, it is based in what we learn and what we are told. Stories are passed down generation to generation and the general context is the same, but each generation perceives a story differently than the originally person might have. Because of secondary perception, this story could have possibly been missing pieces or exaggerated out of the original context. Despite these unwarranted factors, we would have no important family history without these stories.
Nicole O.
Section 012
Memories can be good or bad, funny or sad, but they will never disappear from my mind. My mind holds these memories and uses them when it needs to. Through my collection of memories there is one major factor that ties them all together, me. All my memories are through my eyes and no one else remembers the events in quite the same way. Each and every memory I have forms a complex object that is my identity. As a child I can remember the first time I had a ball set at my feet, and I can remember the curiosity and anxiousness, but not the significance of what this would eventually turn into.
I was just a preschooler and liked to kick the ball around. I loved playing in gym class, on the playground, at my house or anywhere else I could. It turned into a hobby and a passion. The smell of freshly cut grass on a fall morning almost makes my knees weak. I have played soccer through grade school through high school and now into college. I expect that I will be many years out of college and still playing in any kind of adult league I can. Soccer or futbol as most of the world calls it, is an enormous part of the person I am today.
Identity is who we are as a person. I am a soccer player, and have been one since I was enrolled in school. I wish I could say that I was slide tackling, ripping shots, and scoring diving headers since that first day, but I can’t say that I remembered that piece.
Bryan Pitstick
Section 014
I was just a preschooler and liked to kick the ball around. I loved playing in gym class, on the playground, at my house or anywhere else I could. It turned into a hobby and a passion. The smell of freshly cut grass on a fall morning almost makes my knees weak. I have played soccer through grade school through high school and now into college. I expect that I will be many years out of college and still playing in any kind of adult league I can. Soccer or futbol as most of the world calls it, is an enormous part of the person I am today.
Identity is who we are as a person. I am a soccer player, and have been one since I was enrolled in school. I wish I could say that I was slide tackling, ripping shots, and scoring diving headers since that first day, but I can’t say that I remembered that piece.
Bryan Pitstick
Section 014
Is that Pronounced Jaeger or Yaeger?
My last name is Jaeger. This is the backbone to my knowledge of my family history. Quite frankly, it is my entire knowledge of my family history. From what I know about my family history, a couple of the first Jaegers decided to get on a ship in Germany and sail on over to the United States, planting the Jaeger roots in Cincinnati in the mid 1800s. According to my family, a conflict arose when my German ancestors began the English speaking process regarding the pronunciation of my last name. Does the “J” make the traditional English “J” sound, or is it instead pronounced like the English “Y”? Unable to reach a consensus, the Jaegers and the “Yaegers” went their separate ways. Because this is a current family perception of the first Jaegers, its accuracy remains questionable, formulated only from generations of storytelling.
My knowledge of my family’s history is limited, to say the least. In fact, it may even be a collective memory within my family that serves as a simple and unarguable explanation to the pronunciation of my last name. The majority of people outside of my family who see my last name and then hear it aloud question its pronunciation, and because it is tied to my ancestors, it is quite possible that the conflict among them about the pronunciation became exaggerated over time. Maybe my family focuses on this aspect of our history because it not only explains why our name sounds the way it does, but spices it up as well. The first Jaegers in Cincinnati might have simply decided to pronounce the name any way they wanted, but after generations and generations of dealing with a mispronounced last name, that simple decision grew into an incident of family warfare.
This change in the memory of my family’s origin illustrates how a family’s history actually has little to do with what actually happened hundreds of years ago, but instead is all about how the present generation wants to tell the story. Because of this and the fact that I know little else about the history of my family, the identity of my family as a whole is cloudy and almost inexistent, for there is very little memory to give my family a sense of where it came from and where it has been all these years. The current perception is what shapes my family history, and that perception is the apparent family-dividing complication that my last name presents. So the next time I’m sitting in a new class and I hear “Alison Yaeger” in the roll call, I remember not my first ancestors, but my family’s perception of them and the significance of that perception in recognizing my family identity.
Alison J.
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My knowledge of my family’s history is limited, to say the least. In fact, it may even be a collective memory within my family that serves as a simple and unarguable explanation to the pronunciation of my last name. The majority of people outside of my family who see my last name and then hear it aloud question its pronunciation, and because it is tied to my ancestors, it is quite possible that the conflict among them about the pronunciation became exaggerated over time. Maybe my family focuses on this aspect of our history because it not only explains why our name sounds the way it does, but spices it up as well. The first Jaegers in Cincinnati might have simply decided to pronounce the name any way they wanted, but after generations and generations of dealing with a mispronounced last name, that simple decision grew into an incident of family warfare.
This change in the memory of my family’s origin illustrates how a family’s history actually has little to do with what actually happened hundreds of years ago, but instead is all about how the present generation wants to tell the story. Because of this and the fact that I know little else about the history of my family, the identity of my family as a whole is cloudy and almost inexistent, for there is very little memory to give my family a sense of where it came from and where it has been all these years. The current perception is what shapes my family history, and that perception is the apparent family-dividing complication that my last name presents. So the next time I’m sitting in a new class and I hear “Alison Yaeger” in the roll call, I remember not my first ancestors, but my family’s perception of them and the significance of that perception in recognizing my family identity.
Alison J.
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Mastering Fear
One of the memories that has defined me more than anything else happened when I was a child. I was only five at the time, and wasn’t even aware that something like this could happen. It happened so fast, I had no time to think. Before I knew it there was a 2 by 4 through the windshield of the car. My first and only major car accident has really defined who I am today.
Knowing me now, you would never think that I had a traumatic car accident as a child. I’m a member of the Sports Car Club of America, I race my cars at the track, and I auto cross and spend most of my time either working on or driving my VW and Maserati. That moment when the 16 year old girl slammed into the back of my father’s Taurus wagon and threw the lumber we were carrying into the windshield really made me think about how people drive. I thought about this and studied it in order to improve my own driving ability. When the time came, I learned to drive as soon as possible. I might drive a bit fast but I’m always safe. I know the limits of my car, I know how it reacts, I know every subtle nuance of its suspension and its brakes. I always pay attention to what is going on around me. Since then I’ve not been in a single accident. I plan to keep it that way.
Its odd thinking that something tragic, such as a car accident, would turn someone into an avid car enthusiast. I chose to take my fear and morph it into my strength. This truly defines who I am today.
Kyle Geideman
Section 014
Knowing me now, you would never think that I had a traumatic car accident as a child. I’m a member of the Sports Car Club of America, I race my cars at the track, and I auto cross and spend most of my time either working on or driving my VW and Maserati. That moment when the 16 year old girl slammed into the back of my father’s Taurus wagon and threw the lumber we were carrying into the windshield really made me think about how people drive. I thought about this and studied it in order to improve my own driving ability. When the time came, I learned to drive as soon as possible. I might drive a bit fast but I’m always safe. I know the limits of my car, I know how it reacts, I know every subtle nuance of its suspension and its brakes. I always pay attention to what is going on around me. Since then I’ve not been in a single accident. I plan to keep it that way.
Its odd thinking that something tragic, such as a car accident, would turn someone into an avid car enthusiast. I chose to take my fear and morph it into my strength. This truly defines who I am today.
Kyle Geideman
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Why So Shy?
I started kindergarten a year after my age group did. My mother decided I was too shy to start school, too shy was an understatement. I remember walking up the street to the bus stop, holding my moms hand, crying my eyes out. She made me get a picture standing with all of the big kids and while they were all smiling I was frowning with swollen eyes. The yellow bus was getting closer and my cries were getting louder. Once it stopped, everyone loaded the bus and when my turn came I spread my arms out as far as they would go just so my mother would not be able to lift me on to the bus. I do not remember the bus ride, I do not remember the first day, and all I remember is how mad at my mom I was. Along with my shyness I refused to speak. I only made grunts and noises that my parents could eventually understand exactly what I meant. So along with being the shyest kindergartner, I also did not talk. My family finds my shyness funny now, while I will sometimes get upset when they tell this and other similar stories. When they bring it up now, it just floods my brain with how shy I was and immediately sends me into my old ways of being silent and only making subtle noises to let them know exactly how I feel about it.
Sara K.
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Sara K.
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Ha Ha... Not Funny
We’re a family of jokesters; our belief is that any moment without laughter stands as a moment wasted. Our family functions and get-togethers cannot be complete without at least one ridiculous demonstration of someone’s superior wittiness or humor. In fact, my entire personal memory of life with my family can be traced through time via practical jokes, devious trickery, and unplanned humorous events.
The first major prank in my memory occurred when I was in kindergarten. At this time, my mom and I decided to engage in a “scaring” competition. This consisted of harmless games in which one of us would hide behind a door, and in turn, would attempt to scare the other when she was most unaware. However, because it is in her nature, my mother had the desperate need to take the game one step further. So, as to exert her comedic dominance over me, my mother decided to attack when I was singing innocently in the bathtub. The surprise took me over the edge, and I proceeded to sob uncontrollably (without accepting any apologies) for the remainder of the night.
At age ten, my cousin and I went through an Ouija Board phase. Every night we would call to the spirits, beckon for a sign of their presence to solidify our belief in their existence. One night, we received assurance: our ritualistic call for a sign resulted in the immediate crashing of a chair. Shaken and exhausted, we retired to our room, only to find a smear of blood across the wall above our bed. As we screamed, a dark figure emerged from the closet, resulting in our immediate collapse into tearful remorse. Five seconds later, the dark figure removed his mask to reveal himself as my uncle, her father, who guaranteed that we were forgiven for our intrusion upon the world of the beyond.
Practical jokes plague my family’s history. Though at the time of their occurrence these incidents seemed monumental, I now view them as small stepping stones toward creating my personal identity within my family as the best target for pranks. Nevertheless, I accept this position, and count on my family to continue to make my days brighter and healthier with their attempts at humor that I so dearly cherish.
Jen Prows, 012
The first major prank in my memory occurred when I was in kindergarten. At this time, my mom and I decided to engage in a “scaring” competition. This consisted of harmless games in which one of us would hide behind a door, and in turn, would attempt to scare the other when she was most unaware. However, because it is in her nature, my mother had the desperate need to take the game one step further. So, as to exert her comedic dominance over me, my mother decided to attack when I was singing innocently in the bathtub. The surprise took me over the edge, and I proceeded to sob uncontrollably (without accepting any apologies) for the remainder of the night.
At age ten, my cousin and I went through an Ouija Board phase. Every night we would call to the spirits, beckon for a sign of their presence to solidify our belief in their existence. One night, we received assurance: our ritualistic call for a sign resulted in the immediate crashing of a chair. Shaken and exhausted, we retired to our room, only to find a smear of blood across the wall above our bed. As we screamed, a dark figure emerged from the closet, resulting in our immediate collapse into tearful remorse. Five seconds later, the dark figure removed his mask to reveal himself as my uncle, her father, who guaranteed that we were forgiven for our intrusion upon the world of the beyond.
Practical jokes plague my family’s history. Though at the time of their occurrence these incidents seemed monumental, I now view them as small stepping stones toward creating my personal identity within my family as the best target for pranks. Nevertheless, I accept this position, and count on my family to continue to make my days brighter and healthier with their attempts at humor that I so dearly cherish.
Jen Prows, 012
Interpreting Memories Truthfully
I am confident most sane humans in the world can agree on at least one notion: without memory, life would be drastically different. Making progress in academic classes would be near impossible, the joy we share with friends would be short lived, and relationships we make would be identical to the featured couple in “Fifty First Dates”. Basically, the joy of having depth in our lives would be wiped away.
For this short essay I will revisit a memory of mine that had loomed over me for two and a half years. This memory’s influence in my life was drastic.
During my final football game of my final season in high school, I had my first opportunity to score my first touchdown for the varsity team. While playing linebacker on defense, I had cut through the line and watched a teammate sack the opposing quarterback. As both guys hit the turf, so did the football: a fumble. I ran by and scooped up the ball on my way to hit the end-zone for a score. While only 10 yards away, I clumsily slipped on a strip of mud and tackled myself. No score.
This bone-head play caused a series of self inflicted punishment. The embarrassment I felt in the years after caused me to identify myself as someone who folds under pressure and a weakling. My identity of myself had drastically shifted. I allowed how I remembered myself on the football field to play out into other facets of life. As with many unfortunate events, humans must learn that memory is only a piece of the puzzle to our identity. What happens in our past and how we remember it may not always be the most truthful definition of our lives. Since my blunder on the grid iron I have allowed other sources speak into my life help define my self worth.
My memory of being a klutz was not necessarily the truth of who I am. Trusted friends and mentors offer a greater insight to how you define yourself than memories. Memories offer an insight to who you are, interpreting those experiences truthfully offer a better insight.
For this short essay I will revisit a memory of mine that had loomed over me for two and a half years. This memory’s influence in my life was drastic.
During my final football game of my final season in high school, I had my first opportunity to score my first touchdown for the varsity team. While playing linebacker on defense, I had cut through the line and watched a teammate sack the opposing quarterback. As both guys hit the turf, so did the football: a fumble. I ran by and scooped up the ball on my way to hit the end-zone for a score. While only 10 yards away, I clumsily slipped on a strip of mud and tackled myself. No score.
This bone-head play caused a series of self inflicted punishment. The embarrassment I felt in the years after caused me to identify myself as someone who folds under pressure and a weakling. My identity of myself had drastically shifted. I allowed how I remembered myself on the football field to play out into other facets of life. As with many unfortunate events, humans must learn that memory is only a piece of the puzzle to our identity. What happens in our past and how we remember it may not always be the most truthful definition of our lives. Since my blunder on the grid iron I have allowed other sources speak into my life help define my self worth.
My memory of being a klutz was not necessarily the truth of who I am. Trusted friends and mentors offer a greater insight to how you define yourself than memories. Memories offer an insight to who you are, interpreting those experiences truthfully offer a better insight.
Innervisions
“If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?” - Chuck Palahniuk
Our memory is a collection of events – good and bad – that have occurred to us throughout our life and it is definitely a part of who we are. We typically remember the things that have a profound impact upon our life, and often times these memories define who we are. Bruce Wayne (although fictional) witnesses the murder of his parents and has an intense fear of bats. These memorable moments of his childhood are the foundation of who he will eventually become: Batman. In the first chapter of Hunger of Memory it is clear that Rodriguez’s childhood left a lasting impression upon him because he can recall so many vivid details. His struggle with English allowed him to create a strong and enduring bond with his family. Without these monumental life experiences, would these two lives have played out the same way?
We base our decisions for the present and the future from experiences we have faced in the past; we allow our memories to guide us through the future. Had any one singular moment of our past been different we could be different people. We might have different fears, likes and dislikes. We might be able to see things from a new perspective without any preconceptions, just like the young man in the video Unknown White Male when he sees snow for the first time since he lost his memory. If I had not seen countless horror films maybe I wouldn’t be afraid of the dark anymore. We are who we are because of the things we have experienced.
The way we remember the past influences us for the rest of our lives, whether it is as simple as a never-ending fear of the dark or becoming a superhero. Our memory allows us to know where we have been and where we need to go.
Stephanie Champness 012
Our memory is a collection of events – good and bad – that have occurred to us throughout our life and it is definitely a part of who we are. We typically remember the things that have a profound impact upon our life, and often times these memories define who we are. Bruce Wayne (although fictional) witnesses the murder of his parents and has an intense fear of bats. These memorable moments of his childhood are the foundation of who he will eventually become: Batman. In the first chapter of Hunger of Memory it is clear that Rodriguez’s childhood left a lasting impression upon him because he can recall so many vivid details. His struggle with English allowed him to create a strong and enduring bond with his family. Without these monumental life experiences, would these two lives have played out the same way?
We base our decisions for the present and the future from experiences we have faced in the past; we allow our memories to guide us through the future. Had any one singular moment of our past been different we could be different people. We might have different fears, likes and dislikes. We might be able to see things from a new perspective without any preconceptions, just like the young man in the video Unknown White Male when he sees snow for the first time since he lost his memory. If I had not seen countless horror films maybe I wouldn’t be afraid of the dark anymore. We are who we are because of the things we have experienced.
The way we remember the past influences us for the rest of our lives, whether it is as simple as a never-ending fear of the dark or becoming a superhero. Our memory allows us to know where we have been and where we need to go.
Stephanie Champness 012
Country Roads
After much thought on episodic memory and how it affects our psychological identification, I have come to the conclusion that memory determines everything known and unknown about us, thus forming our identity. Memory has altered my past decisions, and will alter those that I have yet to make. It forces my hand, both consciously and subconsciously, as I make my choices about how I conduct myself in life. I am my identity and my memory. That is not to say that memory and identity are one and the same, but the two walk hand in hand, as one is who, the other, why. They are forever bonded together, neither able to exist without the other.
I am a West Virginian, though I was not born there and have lived in two other places longer. I was born in Texas and there I spent the formative first 13 years of my life. I lived in Kentucky for another 10. Only 6 short years was I blessed enough to call West By God Virginia my home. You may wonder why I feel such a strong connection to a place I did not inhabit for long, and I wondered the same thing for a long while. I struggled with my own identity, not wanting to relate to the Appalachian way of things. I would go hiking through the gorges, unaware that the mountain state was helping create my identity.
The first time I really listened to Country Roads by the late, great John Denver (who is a saint, mind you); I knew why I loved the place so. The romantic ideals of ancient mountains and timeless rivers calling me home were too much for my heart to bear. That’s not to say that time has not been very good to my memories. The state is actually in shambles as it has one of the highest adult illiteracy and teen pregnancy rates in the entire union, but my memories of it are without fault. The time I had spent there and the memories I had created through my experiences had etched a new sense of self over the old me. How I identify myself to others had been changed by my memories. Through this change, my eyes were opened to the fact that identity is a dynamic process. The philosopher Heraclitus famously said, “You cannot step twice into the same river; for other waters are ever flowing on to you.” The same holds true for identity. Every second of every day new memories are flowing into your mind, and in making these new memories, we are forging a new identity from moment to moment. The fact that I hold an identity of myself that should not be, is proof positive enough for me to know that our identity evolves by our memory and shows that they are hopelessly entwined. Thank you John Denver, you helped define my identity by giving me a memory.
Michael R. 005
I am a West Virginian, though I was not born there and have lived in two other places longer. I was born in Texas and there I spent the formative first 13 years of my life. I lived in Kentucky for another 10. Only 6 short years was I blessed enough to call West By God Virginia my home. You may wonder why I feel such a strong connection to a place I did not inhabit for long, and I wondered the same thing for a long while. I struggled with my own identity, not wanting to relate to the Appalachian way of things. I would go hiking through the gorges, unaware that the mountain state was helping create my identity.
The first time I really listened to Country Roads by the late, great John Denver (who is a saint, mind you); I knew why I loved the place so. The romantic ideals of ancient mountains and timeless rivers calling me home were too much for my heart to bear. That’s not to say that time has not been very good to my memories. The state is actually in shambles as it has one of the highest adult illiteracy and teen pregnancy rates in the entire union, but my memories of it are without fault. The time I had spent there and the memories I had created through my experiences had etched a new sense of self over the old me. How I identify myself to others had been changed by my memories. Through this change, my eyes were opened to the fact that identity is a dynamic process. The philosopher Heraclitus famously said, “You cannot step twice into the same river; for other waters are ever flowing on to you.” The same holds true for identity. Every second of every day new memories are flowing into your mind, and in making these new memories, we are forging a new identity from moment to moment. The fact that I hold an identity of myself that should not be, is proof positive enough for me to know that our identity evolves by our memory and shows that they are hopelessly entwined. Thank you John Denver, you helped define my identity by giving me a memory.
Michael R. 005
The Smell of Freshly Baked Cookies
A memory that has stuck with me throughout my life is the first time I made chocolate chip cookies with my mother. I was probably about 4 years old the first time my mother let me help her make our family’s delicious chocolate chip cookies. I was only 4 years old, so I was still very short, but luckily our kitchen had a low set counter that was just the right height for me to work on. While my mother did most of the measuring, she did let me dump the ingredients into the mixing bowl and give it a few stirs. We even have pictures of me with my little apron on and cookie dough and flour all over me.
This memory for me has really become a part of who I am in my identity. Throughout my life, I have always been known as the girl who makes the world’s best chocolate chip cookies. I even thought about become a professional chef and baker and went to culinary school for a year to try it out. Cooking and baking, like this memory, will always be a part of my life, but it is not my complete identity. No one memory can completely define someone’s identity. Our collective memories help make up who we are, along with biological components.
Since it has been so long since this memory took place that many of the details of the story are brought in from pictures and my mom and dad’s telling of this memory. I’m sure that when I was younger, I would have really thought I had made that first batch of cookies all by myself and not have focused on the little details like the low counter, apron, and the cookie dough everywhere. I don’t think the memory itself has changed, just the important aspects about that memory that stick out now.
Sarah Hejma
English 289 014
This memory for me has really become a part of who I am in my identity. Throughout my life, I have always been known as the girl who makes the world’s best chocolate chip cookies. I even thought about become a professional chef and baker and went to culinary school for a year to try it out. Cooking and baking, like this memory, will always be a part of my life, but it is not my complete identity. No one memory can completely define someone’s identity. Our collective memories help make up who we are, along with biological components.
Since it has been so long since this memory took place that many of the details of the story are brought in from pictures and my mom and dad’s telling of this memory. I’m sure that when I was younger, I would have really thought I had made that first batch of cookies all by myself and not have focused on the little details like the low counter, apron, and the cookie dough everywhere. I don’t think the memory itself has changed, just the important aspects about that memory that stick out now.
Sarah Hejma
English 289 014
Family Recollection
I never met my great-grandparents, but I have heard that they sure could dance. I have been told tales of them jitterbugging from dusk until dawn, and although I sometimes find these stories hard to believe, they are all I have to base my past on since my family isn’t too in touch with our ancestry. Whether it is truth or a tall tale, what I know of my family history is based mainly on the memories and insight that have been passed down through the generations.
From their demeanors to their late night dances, I have vivid picture of my great-grandparents painted by the stories of my relatives. My favorite stories are the ones told about their Saturday nights at the Ault Park Pavilion. Bands would play and they would pay nickel per dance. I’ve been told that my great-grandpa was the best dancer on the floor, a trait that he apparently passed on to my grandpa. These days, my grandpa has a hard time even standing on his own, and thus dancing for him is simply not a possibility. Sometimes it is hard for me to believe he once possessed such stellar moves. These impressive dancing genes were ones that certainly skipped the members of my immediate family, also leading me to believe the stories of my grandparents’ dancing abilities were somewhat fabricated.
Although the memories I’ve been told of my relatives may not be completely accurate, they are still the essence of my family history. None of these events were recorded in books or journals, but instead told by word of mouth. I personally prefer to picture them through eyes of my family members even if their memories are slightly skewed versions of the real story.
Julie C.
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From their demeanors to their late night dances, I have vivid picture of my great-grandparents painted by the stories of my relatives. My favorite stories are the ones told about their Saturday nights at the Ault Park Pavilion. Bands would play and they would pay nickel per dance. I’ve been told that my great-grandpa was the best dancer on the floor, a trait that he apparently passed on to my grandpa. These days, my grandpa has a hard time even standing on his own, and thus dancing for him is simply not a possibility. Sometimes it is hard for me to believe he once possessed such stellar moves. These impressive dancing genes were ones that certainly skipped the members of my immediate family, also leading me to believe the stories of my grandparents’ dancing abilities were somewhat fabricated.
Although the memories I’ve been told of my relatives may not be completely accurate, they are still the essence of my family history. None of these events were recorded in books or journals, but instead told by word of mouth. I personally prefer to picture them through eyes of my family members even if their memories are slightly skewed versions of the real story.
Julie C.
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The Emerald Isle
Where would you be without your past? Family history is essential. It is important to know where you came from in order to appreciate your unique place in history and advance forward into the future. My family’s history runs deep, passed down for multiple generations through stories, photographs, songs, letters, videos, and memories. In particular, my father’s side of the family has always proved to be full of mystery, wisdom, and strong tradition. Memories, passed down through history, have played an essential role in defining the culture of my family.
My father’s father was born in Limerick, Ireland, in the 1920’s. Like any Irishman living under English rule in those days, his life came with innumerable hardships. The lessons he learned through his suffering in the dirty lanes of an economically shattered country were brought with him on a boat to America, where he passed them down to his family. Lessons about appreciation and knowing to be thankful for what you have. Lessons about faith, particularly the Roman Catholic Church, a beacon of hope for Ireland even to this day. All of this was blended into the values and traditions that define my family.
Ireland is a nation that prides itself on its ability to pass down traditions, values, and lessons through the art of story telling. My family’s history draws strongly from memories about times past, and we do our best to apply them to the present, using the lessons and values learned to aid us in everyday life.
Michael McCool
English 289 Section 012
My father’s father was born in Limerick, Ireland, in the 1920’s. Like any Irishman living under English rule in those days, his life came with innumerable hardships. The lessons he learned through his suffering in the dirty lanes of an economically shattered country were brought with him on a boat to America, where he passed them down to his family. Lessons about appreciation and knowing to be thankful for what you have. Lessons about faith, particularly the Roman Catholic Church, a beacon of hope for Ireland even to this day. All of this was blended into the values and traditions that define my family.
Ireland is a nation that prides itself on its ability to pass down traditions, values, and lessons through the art of story telling. My family’s history draws strongly from memories about times past, and we do our best to apply them to the present, using the lessons and values learned to aid us in everyday life.
Michael McCool
English 289 Section 012
Memory Defines Me
One cannot have a concept of self without their memory. The sum of memories make up who a person believes they are. In particular, memories of traumatic events may shape a person’s identity in a more dramatic way than more pleasant memories.
At the age of thirteen I experienced two very traumatic events. Because these events were so similar and happened just a few months apart, and because of my young age, I had a hard time processing the trauma. Instead, I believed there was something inherently wrong with me, and I needed to be punished for what I allowed to happen. I didn’t think about the events, just escaping them.
A few years later, when I told someone about the trauma and faced it for the first time, the memory of the events became so clear, I could no longer block them out. Instead, they invaded every thought, every action, and completely altered the way I viewed myself. When I would have the invading memories, I could see the faces of the perpetrators, hear their voices; harsh and mocking, the music outside and my pointless cries, I could smell my own fear and the alcohol on their breath, and feel the physical pain, sickness and helplessness. I could not escape the memories, and defined myself based on those memories. I selected other memories from my past to confirm my identity, ignoring others that contradicted that identity. I was bad, disgusting, and worthless. My entire sense of self was, and is, defined by something most people would say was out of my control.
Identity is not just based on memories, but rather interpretation of memories and the importance you allow them to have in your life. Allowing a few memories to define you skews your concept of self; you define yourself based on limited experiences, not an accumulation of memories.
Posted by Lindsay Ash
At the age of thirteen I experienced two very traumatic events. Because these events were so similar and happened just a few months apart, and because of my young age, I had a hard time processing the trauma. Instead, I believed there was something inherently wrong with me, and I needed to be punished for what I allowed to happen. I didn’t think about the events, just escaping them.
A few years later, when I told someone about the trauma and faced it for the first time, the memory of the events became so clear, I could no longer block them out. Instead, they invaded every thought, every action, and completely altered the way I viewed myself. When I would have the invading memories, I could see the faces of the perpetrators, hear their voices; harsh and mocking, the music outside and my pointless cries, I could smell my own fear and the alcohol on their breath, and feel the physical pain, sickness and helplessness. I could not escape the memories, and defined myself based on those memories. I selected other memories from my past to confirm my identity, ignoring others that contradicted that identity. I was bad, disgusting, and worthless. My entire sense of self was, and is, defined by something most people would say was out of my control.
Identity is not just based on memories, but rather interpretation of memories and the importance you allow them to have in your life. Allowing a few memories to define you skews your concept of self; you define yourself based on limited experiences, not an accumulation of memories.
Posted by Lindsay Ash
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