essay

Ahoy,

My 2nd essay for my writing class. It's been welcome change not to write with the requirement of 60 in-text citations and Ecology formatted sources.

I’m spoiled. I’ll admit to it. My mom had notified me on occasion, but I always took it business as usual. I had Barbies, I had LEGOS, I had those Disney cups from McDonald’s, and, my gosh, the teeny Beanie Babies! I look back at how I grew up, and I don’t think it was about the toys or other material items that were so coveted as to get buried with the dust bunnies in my closet. I remember how I grew up in the neighborhoods of Chicago and how I became a product of the Chicago Public School system. I see now that I was spoiled by the diversity I encountered there.

Chicago put itself on the map during the Industrial Age. Jobs multiplied and so did the population. My city became the great ‘melting pot’ of North America. Polish, Irish, Korean, African, Mexican, Chinese, Italian, Greek – everyone wanted a piece of Lake Michigan trade, Midwestern wealth, the American dream. Chicago reined the rest of the world onto its streets. And for that, I am spoiled.

Diversity was never anything to which I paid attention. Diversity had always been at my doorstep and school hallways. My neighborhood was overrun with Hispanic, African, Italian, and Chinese children. And for anyone who visited today, they wouldn’t be able to tell what kind of mish-mashed, hodge podge neighborhood I live with Italian restaurants spilling into Chinatown and Chinatown spilling onto Mexican neighborhoods spilling into African neighborhoods. I remember swatting at the piñatas at my neighbor’s birthday parties every summer and biking through Greektown, Mexican neighborhoods, and Chinatown to get home after school. Diversity was a commodity that had always been at my disposal. It was a concept that I never realized was so prevalent in my upbringing until I noticed I had left it at home like the watch on my bookshelf.

Something was amiss as I strolled down the cobbled streets of Spain. I felt the curiosity in the eyes of everyone passing by. The spectacle I had made of myself by existing on these streets dawned on me with every blatantly turned head that wished the human anatomical capabilities allowed its neck a 360˚ turn. I never thought I would, but I felt as if they thought I was exotic. From the way they stared at me, Spaniards must be as likely to see a Chinese person as they are to skip a siesta.

They stared- all of them. Even the handful of Asian shop-owners whose stores I stumbled into stared. I was now a full-on, all day, free ticket show as I brushed my hair behind my ears, adjusted my sunglasses, drank from my water bottle. Drivers and motorists disregarded the road for a heart attack moment as their eyes met mine. The little Chinese girl followed me through her dad’s store as I peeked around shadows on the shelves. Her pigtails bobbed to follow my movements. Never had I been so conscious of every little movement. The fascination and surprise in her glimmering eyes saddened me to see. Diversity was a luxury that was not hers. Rarely did she encounter someone that wasn’t Spanish, or looked like her. I grew up spoiled.

I realized in Spain how lucky I was, not to have Megazords and stuffed canines, but to have diversity.  I remember the elementary school that was of Irish origin and my high school of African origin – both of which contained American students- American students that were African, Chinese, Italian, Spanish, Japanese, Polish, Russian. I could map the world with my classmates.

Chicago is a unique city. I never knew this more than when I was across the ocean. What I looked like never became more definitive of who I am than when I was across the ocean. Where I came from had never become more clear to me than when I was across the ocean. Spaniards weren’t judge-mental, they weren’t prejudiced. I could tell from the nature of their gleaming eyes and the sheepish smile that crawled across their faces as they realized I wasn’t oblivious to their staring. There was no one-way mirror. But it wasn’t too often they saw people like me. It must not be too often they see people unlike themselves. That’s too bad. I came to know that part of the value in growing up in Chicago was that I probably saw people like them when I was two. I probably saw people like them and everyone else everyday after.

obligingly yours,
JT