It wasn't until I was a few years into elementary school that I fully comprehended the idea that we are not alone in this world. And by that I mean this world as in Earth, not this galaxy as in the Milky Way. In fact, I don't think it was until I made my first trip to Europe (more specifically, France) that I actually came to grips with the fact that America wasn't some lone entity floating in the galaxy.
Okay, perhaps that's an exaggeration. But you have to admit that even into our adulthood, many of us "Proud to be an American"-ers tend to forget that outside our insular world of barbecues and "Star-Spangled Banner," away from the giant SUVs and vehement opposition to universal healthcare, there exists a magical planet filled with people of varying skin types, languages, cultures, traditions, ideas, etc.
The concept of varied civilization becomes all the more shrouded on a day like today, when we do little but party among friends and proclaim how truly proud we are to be an American (I know I'm repeating that phrase, but considering how often it's repeated in this country, I think it's only appropriate. Maybe I'll even say it again later).
So, even though I feel much love for my country, and much enthusiasm for its history, on a day like July 4th I also can't help but feel some hints of embarrassment, maybe even disturbance. It's why I've so often contemplated the idea of moving to England, and why I often shy away from immersing myself in American political debates and social issues, preferring to watch the goings-on of foreign countries, not because it keeps me unaware of the problems here, but because at least the problems there are handle with more sophistication.
With that, I think I'll list a few of my favorite and least favorite things about being an American and growing up in this country. I'll start with the latter, so that we can end on a high note. I hope my negativity won't make anyone label me a Communist - not because I disagree with Karl Marx, but because the definition of a Communist is not someone who dislikes America.
Least Favorites
1. As I mentioned, one of the most frustrating things about growing up in America is the fact that we so often forget - as we live in this enormous country - that we aren't alone. As I was growing up, I could recite all the 50 states in alphabetical order, but ask me about the geography of any continent other than North America and I was lost. Once I did learn about different countries around the world - not until middle school, unfortunately - I understood all that I was missing out on. I think it was then that I really figured out that being American might not be all that the patriotic songs made it out to be.
2. What goes along with the singularity of this country is the overwhelming pride, almost to a fault. Americans display flags like its nobody's business, they wear pins and hats and bathing suits and underwear that display the pride for their country. When you're living here it becomes an annoyance, so I can't imagine what it must be like from the periphery. This goes along with a constant need of the country to set everything against itself - whether its politics or entertainment, culture or food. Americans love to proclaim their greatness, even when it's not exactly substantiated by fact. We adopt television programs and film ideas, even food products and so much else, pretending that what we have is so much better than what is offered elsewhere, though in some cases all we do is adapt.
3. Yet still we have this distressingly low patience for other cultures. Perhaps these two things go together, actually. A particularly obvious case is, as I mentioned, with television and movies that are adapted from foreign screens to their American versions. Just recently, I watched bits of American adaptations of the British shows Friday Night Dinner and The Inbetweeners. These are shows that did not need to be recreated for the American tube. They were perfectly fine as is, suitable for airing on BBC America or PBS or elsewhere. In the past, shows like The Office have also been stolen by American television - in my opinion this wasn't the most egregious error, since I love the American Office, but still the anger is sound - much to the chagrin of our European entertainment counterparts.
These choices, perhaps the fault of mainstream media producers in the United States, are a reflection of this American spirit - the one that believes what's produced here is somehow superior to what's created elsewhere, which is just not true. It's also the basis for our intolerance of those who don't speak English perfectly, or those who have different cultural backgrounds and traditions. For a country that likes to talk about its diversity, we really need to start embracing those varied groups.
Favorites
1. Now that I've terrified you with my negativity about this wonderful country of ours, let me say what I do appreciate. Because I'm mixed race and come from very different racial backgrounds with their own distinctive traditions and eccentricities, I wholeheartedly believe that it's important to maintain a country-wide culture. Being an American is something, however blemished by a steadily worsening reputation, wholly unique and wonderful. When you say you're American, you are hinting at not only where you came from, but everything from where you travel to what languages you know to what comedy you enjoy. Despite our very distinct identities as a bunch of immigrants (yes, America, we're all immigrants), there is also a very community-driven aspect of being American. We feel pride in our roots within this country as well as outside of it. It's why most of us, when asked what nationality we are, will say "American" overseas, but within the country proudly proclaim the various ethnicities we are made up of.
2. Despite the bother it was in the later years of elementary school, going from learning our state's history to our country's history in two consecutive years (and then repeating the latter information again in middle school and high school), there is something wonderful about American history. Though it may not be as expansive as the drawn-out, battle-ridden stories of other countries, in our 236 year history, we've accomplished some pretty awesome things and have had some pretty great personalities to go along with those accomplishments. This was a place that was built from the ground up - with some inhumanity along the way, but since it's Independence Day I'll save that for another blog - and where so many people, organizations, belief systems, etc. have gotten their starts. Even if you shudder at being associated with this country, when you look back over 200 years you can't help but be proud to be an American (you knew I'd say it again).
3. Finally, I have to say that despite the fact that I can't quite stand American flags everywhere, I'm pretty fond of July 4th as a holiday. This is a day when you have to stop yourself from coordinating your outfit so that you're wearing red, white and blue. It's a day when you may not want to hear bunches of patriotic tunes, but when you do you feel a little bit happy about it. It's a day for reminding yourself of all the great traditions that go along with living in this country - the pride of turning 16 and getting your driver's license (though I'll admit this one was lost on me until I was 18), the goal of turning 21 and starting to drink (also lost on me, I have no interest in alcohol), the excitement of finally leaving the country when you've spent years being stuck in it. There are so many distinctly American experiences that make this country such a strong community despite it being so large and populated.
I whine a lot about how patriotism bugs me. But the truth is, there's good and bad to everything, American pride included. Though there are annoyances associated with living in this country and being strangled by the enthusiasm of your fellow citizens, there are also times when you just want to hold hands and sing "This Land is Your Land" with everyone within a 20-foot radius.
Because even when it is annoying, this land was made for you and me...and I can appreciate that just as much as the next person.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Never too many veggie buddies
I don't think I ever quite understood what an awkward feeling it is to be a vegetarian in the company of a group entirely made up of meat eaters until I stopped eating animals myself a couple of years ago.
Growing up with a dad who hadn't eaten meat in my entire lifetime, I'd certainly been aware of the person strains and struggles of making the choice to refrain from that particular food group, but it didn't occur to me that from his end, the abstinence from meat can be a trying, almost arduous task without the support of people who are on the same page.
By the time I was vegetarian, though, I was lucky to have companions (in my dad and in my friend Diana) who could be the fellow vegetarian to combat the awkwardness of having to tell a group of people I didn't want to eat at a steak house or a sushi restaurant.
Even when I got to college, I was pleasantly surprised to find that one of my closest friends there was also becoming a vegetarian. By the time I became a sophomore, another friend was asking me about what it would take to transition out of meat-eating.
So that's where I am now - a lucky, enabled kid who never had to experience the art of meatlessness by her lonesome, because no matter where I've gone there have always been people to share the burden with.
But on the rare occasion that I'm not around a fellow vegetarian, it becomes all the more clear to me what an anomaly I must seem. My grandma, some of my friends, my coworkers, etc. at one point or another have all asked me about the limitations of my diet. Some have even complained, citing my choices as a hindrance on their own.
Which is why over the past two years of trying to transition myself out of absolutely any desire for meat (I still admit that bacon smells good and it bothers me that I feel that way since the idea of it disgusts me so much), I've constantly looked for ways to integrate vegetarianism into my life without alienating the people I know and love who just can't stand it.
I've gone to Japanese restaurants and watched family members order Salmon Teriyaki (one of the dishes I feel the greatest lust for), or sat in diners and avoided breakfast platters, offering my bacon and sausage to whomever I'm with.
But these choices get to me, and not in a good way.
So I love the days when I get to discover my own way of eating vegetarian-friendly even when my location doesn't necessarily cater to my "people."
The other day, I was searching through the Disney Parks Blog when I found a post about a vegetarian option at the new Flo's V8 Café in Cars Land at California Adventure. This insight made me hunger (punny) for more information on the best vegetarian and vegan eateries at the parks.
While Disneyland is certainly not made for the meatless among us, it's a resort that aims to cater to all types of people. At most locations, I can find some suitable option to eat. But finding what's suitable isn't my goal, I constantly strive to find places to eat that not only coincide with my dietary choices, but favor them.
Enter in my dad, who is by far the best parent any girl or boy or animal could ever ask for.
As soon as I got it into my mind that I wanted to try out various vegetarian food options around the Disney parks, he jumped right on board to be my fellow taste tester.
While we already had our staples of tofu kebabs and bread bowls at California Adventure, we decided to step over to Disneyland and try our options out there. In a week, we've tested the vegetarian Gumbo in New Orleans Square and the Vegetable Po' boy at the River Belle Terrace, which sits on the cusp of Frontierland, Adventureland and New Orleans Square.
Though the food is hit or miss (respectively), it's the fun of trying new things that makes this venture worth it. And without the company of a fellow vegetarian who understands the need to find food that is not only acceptable to my diet, but also satisfying, it would be a difficult endeavor.
As I've expressed before here, it's hard for me to judge anyone who doesn't have the same values and subsequent dietary restrictions as I do. For the first 17 years of my life, the thought of going vegetarian barely crossed my mind. How could I give up a major food group? It seemed unfathomable.
I can see why people might feel that way, and even though it conflicts with my perception of humanity, I accept that not everyone I hang out with or spend time around can be or wants to be a vegetarian. Yet still, I treasure the fact that I've grown up in an environment that is so welcoming to people like me, one in which I've been lucky enough to be constantly surrounded by likeminded individuals.
The other day I was telling one of my coworkers about how I've been a vegetarian for a couple of years. She told me that when she was 11 or 12 she became a pescatarian and her parents were quick to tell her how crazy they thought she was. Somehow, she managed to stick with it despite perhaps not having their full support.
It's difficult to make life choices when, because they're not the norm, they allow people to look at you differently - to judge you. The blessed among us are those who have friends and family to accept us even when we make a decision that might set us apart from them. The even more blessed among us are those who have friends and family who have gone through the same choices and can relate with our plight.
The reason I like taste-testing vegetarian food is not just because I love trying new types of cuisine and varying my diet in a world where most restaurants only offer one or two vegetarian options on a menu. It's also because being an adventurous non-meat-eater gives me the license to connect with some amazing people, and to grow even closer with some I already know.
Growing up with a dad who hadn't eaten meat in my entire lifetime, I'd certainly been aware of the person strains and struggles of making the choice to refrain from that particular food group, but it didn't occur to me that from his end, the abstinence from meat can be a trying, almost arduous task without the support of people who are on the same page.
By the time I was vegetarian, though, I was lucky to have companions (in my dad and in my friend Diana) who could be the fellow vegetarian to combat the awkwardness of having to tell a group of people I didn't want to eat at a steak house or a sushi restaurant.
Even when I got to college, I was pleasantly surprised to find that one of my closest friends there was also becoming a vegetarian. By the time I became a sophomore, another friend was asking me about what it would take to transition out of meat-eating.
So that's where I am now - a lucky, enabled kid who never had to experience the art of meatlessness by her lonesome, because no matter where I've gone there have always been people to share the burden with.
But on the rare occasion that I'm not around a fellow vegetarian, it becomes all the more clear to me what an anomaly I must seem. My grandma, some of my friends, my coworkers, etc. at one point or another have all asked me about the limitations of my diet. Some have even complained, citing my choices as a hindrance on their own.
Which is why over the past two years of trying to transition myself out of absolutely any desire for meat (I still admit that bacon smells good and it bothers me that I feel that way since the idea of it disgusts me so much), I've constantly looked for ways to integrate vegetarianism into my life without alienating the people I know and love who just can't stand it.
I've gone to Japanese restaurants and watched family members order Salmon Teriyaki (one of the dishes I feel the greatest lust for), or sat in diners and avoided breakfast platters, offering my bacon and sausage to whomever I'm with.
But these choices get to me, and not in a good way.
So I love the days when I get to discover my own way of eating vegetarian-friendly even when my location doesn't necessarily cater to my "people."
The other day, I was searching through the Disney Parks Blog when I found a post about a vegetarian option at the new Flo's V8 Café in Cars Land at California Adventure. This insight made me hunger (punny) for more information on the best vegetarian and vegan eateries at the parks.
While Disneyland is certainly not made for the meatless among us, it's a resort that aims to cater to all types of people. At most locations, I can find some suitable option to eat. But finding what's suitable isn't my goal, I constantly strive to find places to eat that not only coincide with my dietary choices, but favor them.
Enter in my dad, who is by far the best parent any girl or boy or animal could ever ask for.
As soon as I got it into my mind that I wanted to try out various vegetarian food options around the Disney parks, he jumped right on board to be my fellow taste tester.
While we already had our staples of tofu kebabs and bread bowls at California Adventure, we decided to step over to Disneyland and try our options out there. In a week, we've tested the vegetarian Gumbo in New Orleans Square and the Vegetable Po' boy at the River Belle Terrace, which sits on the cusp of Frontierland, Adventureland and New Orleans Square.
Though the food is hit or miss (respectively), it's the fun of trying new things that makes this venture worth it. And without the company of a fellow vegetarian who understands the need to find food that is not only acceptable to my diet, but also satisfying, it would be a difficult endeavor.
As I've expressed before here, it's hard for me to judge anyone who doesn't have the same values and subsequent dietary restrictions as I do. For the first 17 years of my life, the thought of going vegetarian barely crossed my mind. How could I give up a major food group? It seemed unfathomable.
I can see why people might feel that way, and even though it conflicts with my perception of humanity, I accept that not everyone I hang out with or spend time around can be or wants to be a vegetarian. Yet still, I treasure the fact that I've grown up in an environment that is so welcoming to people like me, one in which I've been lucky enough to be constantly surrounded by likeminded individuals.
The other day I was telling one of my coworkers about how I've been a vegetarian for a couple of years. She told me that when she was 11 or 12 she became a pescatarian and her parents were quick to tell her how crazy they thought she was. Somehow, she managed to stick with it despite perhaps not having their full support.
It's difficult to make life choices when, because they're not the norm, they allow people to look at you differently - to judge you. The blessed among us are those who have friends and family to accept us even when we make a decision that might set us apart from them. The even more blessed among us are those who have friends and family who have gone through the same choices and can relate with our plight.
The reason I like taste-testing vegetarian food is not just because I love trying new types of cuisine and varying my diet in a world where most restaurants only offer one or two vegetarian options on a menu. It's also because being an adventurous non-meat-eater gives me the license to connect with some amazing people, and to grow even closer with some I already know.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Movie buffs and braggarts
My dad is by far one of the best people in the world to see a movie with. I don't use that qualification lightly. He really is a pretty awesome companion.
There are several reasons for this. The first is that he is incredibly punctual and never makes me wait for him to get ready to go - which is an integral function in the art of movie-going. The second is that he has great taste in film, so we always end up going to see interesting things together. The third is that he'll get up right before a movie starts and buy me popcorn (okay, this one is stupid, but it really is nice to have someone who's willing to do such a stupid favor for you).
But the thing that makes my dad the best movie companion is that he understands and relates to the aspect of films that I enjoy the most: the search for meaning.
I wish we could go to the movies more often together. On the rare occasion that I go to the theater at all, the follow-up conversation with the person I'm with generally consists of one of the following:
1. A brief recount of my opinion of the film followed by an inquiry as to theirs. No analysis, no interpretation, no hypotheses or contention. Just a simple "it was all right" or "could have been better."
2. An impassioned tirade on what was done well, what went wrong, why the filmmaker is the devil and/or a God, who they remind me of, why the film confirms what's absolutely perfect/wrong with cinema, etc. etc.
You get the picture, right?
What I've discovered is that, although I can attribute the better category to being raised by an awesome film connoisseur like my dad, I can also locate its origin in the movies themselves.
The types of films that I see depend heavily on who I'm with. Because I have a pretty wide array of tastes - at least comparatively to many of my friends or even to my dad - I can be caught seeing a horror film, a fantasy film, an animated feature, an indie classic, a documentary, a satire, a political drama or any other of the many genres and subgenres that exist. But there's no one person in the world that I can see all of these films with because in all honesty, I don't know anyone who likes them all.
But there's a logical reason why my dad always ends up being someone I can talk to incessantly about film and why many of my other movie companions I just end up spouting off 1-10 ratings with. My dad and I see the cream of the crop of artsy fartsy, slightly arrogant and absolutely wonderful film.
There are so many movies in theaters I want to see right now. But atop my list was a recent release from the wonderful mind of Wes Anderson, one Moonrise Kingdom. I have long been a fan of Anderson, and all thanks to my dad who chose to rent The Royal Tenenbaums one year when we were stranded in New Jersey visiting family.
In my opinion, I was slightly too young for the film - if only for the scene in which one of the main characters attempts suicide - but I thank my dad wholeheartedly for never actually caring about parental warnings and ratings on films.
Because my love affair with Wes Anderson is one of the surest reasons that I have such a passion for film.
When we left the theater after seeing Moonrise Kingdom, my dad and I didn't walk away talking about how the film was fine, good, an 8 or a 9 or a 10. The first substantial commentary we had - which was also the first commentary we had - was that the film was a perfect example of Wes Anderson's ability to make a movie into a series of beautifully artistic almost-photographic images.
Amidst the surrealism and the quirkiness, one of the most quintessentially Anderson aspects of Moonrise Kingdom is its commitment to memorable pictures. There are shots set up to capture one character on the far edge of the frame and the other walking into the other far edge of the frame. Others are arranged to look like still life paintings with various objects scattered across the screen. The colors are all in complementary hues and there's a consistently rustic look to every piece of architecture, accessory or otherwise.
So as we're stumbling through the theater trying to find the door underneath the neon "Exit" sign, we're also discussing the value of photography in film and how the two mediums are not necessarily standalone concepts.
Another thing that Moonrise had to offer was a descent into surrealism. In the film we watch a boy and a girl wander through an almost-forest that runs along raging waters of an island. They survive for days off a tiny knapsack of equipment and sustenance, with a pet cat to feed and an entire suitcase filled with library books.
You have to go into this film aware that it's a work of fiction. But what's so great about the script is that the lessons transcend reality. In Moonrise Kingdom, we're free to explore true love, friendship, adventure, freedom and family while breaking the confines of the traditional explanations of any and all of these issues. While we can't exactly place ourselves in our favorite characters' shoes, we can immerse ourselves in the story so as to take away something even more valuable than the most true-to-life independent film could ever portray.
But movies don't have to be so outlandish to carry that message. One of my favorite movies is a film called HappyThankYouMorePlease, by Josh Radnor (better known for his role on How I Met Your Mother). Though the movie is in some ways a dry reflection on reality, it is also an impassioned critique of humanity that relies heavily on stretching the world past its natural order.
In one scene, one of the main characters (who has Alopecia), goes on a date with a man who has been pretty evidently in love with her for a while. She acknowledges that she's not incredibly attracted to him, but when he tells her to close her eyes and listen to him speak, his words speak to her in a way that his face and his actions never could.
A good movie can speak to you even when its special effects, its outrageous costumes or make-up or its Pin-Up handsome lead actors never could. While sometimes we just love to bask in the superficiality of a good romantic comedy (obviously I do) or a science-fiction adaptation, can we really expend those moments walking out of a theater with our fathers where we can't help but go on and on about what we learned about life in just two hours that we've spent 20 years wondering about?
I recognize my own shallowness in a lot of my entertainment choices. Heck, I watch TLC. I listen to Taylor Swift and I go back in time to play Hansen and the A*Teens on my iPod. Some of my favorite books are supernatural teen fiction novels (The Mediator Series, not Twilight).
But I'm lucky that I have a broad taste in film and a dad to go along with it, because without those things I'd have a much looser grasp of reality - even if reality isn't necessarily what I look for on the screen. What you find in a movie doesn't have to match what you're given, but there's certainly a way to argue for that hypothesis.
There are several reasons for this. The first is that he is incredibly punctual and never makes me wait for him to get ready to go - which is an integral function in the art of movie-going. The second is that he has great taste in film, so we always end up going to see interesting things together. The third is that he'll get up right before a movie starts and buy me popcorn (okay, this one is stupid, but it really is nice to have someone who's willing to do such a stupid favor for you).
But the thing that makes my dad the best movie companion is that he understands and relates to the aspect of films that I enjoy the most: the search for meaning.
I wish we could go to the movies more often together. On the rare occasion that I go to the theater at all, the follow-up conversation with the person I'm with generally consists of one of the following:
1. A brief recount of my opinion of the film followed by an inquiry as to theirs. No analysis, no interpretation, no hypotheses or contention. Just a simple "it was all right" or "could have been better."
2. An impassioned tirade on what was done well, what went wrong, why the filmmaker is the devil and/or a God, who they remind me of, why the film confirms what's absolutely perfect/wrong with cinema, etc. etc.
You get the picture, right?
What I've discovered is that, although I can attribute the better category to being raised by an awesome film connoisseur like my dad, I can also locate its origin in the movies themselves.
The types of films that I see depend heavily on who I'm with. Because I have a pretty wide array of tastes - at least comparatively to many of my friends or even to my dad - I can be caught seeing a horror film, a fantasy film, an animated feature, an indie classic, a documentary, a satire, a political drama or any other of the many genres and subgenres that exist. But there's no one person in the world that I can see all of these films with because in all honesty, I don't know anyone who likes them all.
But there's a logical reason why my dad always ends up being someone I can talk to incessantly about film and why many of my other movie companions I just end up spouting off 1-10 ratings with. My dad and I see the cream of the crop of artsy fartsy, slightly arrogant and absolutely wonderful film.
In my opinion, I was slightly too young for the film - if only for the scene in which one of the main characters attempts suicide - but I thank my dad wholeheartedly for never actually caring about parental warnings and ratings on films.
Because my love affair with Wes Anderson is one of the surest reasons that I have such a passion for film.
When we left the theater after seeing Moonrise Kingdom, my dad and I didn't walk away talking about how the film was fine, good, an 8 or a 9 or a 10. The first substantial commentary we had - which was also the first commentary we had - was that the film was a perfect example of Wes Anderson's ability to make a movie into a series of beautifully artistic almost-photographic images.
So as we're stumbling through the theater trying to find the door underneath the neon "Exit" sign, we're also discussing the value of photography in film and how the two mediums are not necessarily standalone concepts.
Another thing that Moonrise had to offer was a descent into surrealism. In the film we watch a boy and a girl wander through an almost-forest that runs along raging waters of an island. They survive for days off a tiny knapsack of equipment and sustenance, with a pet cat to feed and an entire suitcase filled with library books.
You have to go into this film aware that it's a work of fiction. But what's so great about the script is that the lessons transcend reality. In Moonrise Kingdom, we're free to explore true love, friendship, adventure, freedom and family while breaking the confines of the traditional explanations of any and all of these issues. While we can't exactly place ourselves in our favorite characters' shoes, we can immerse ourselves in the story so as to take away something even more valuable than the most true-to-life independent film could ever portray.
But movies don't have to be so outlandish to carry that message. One of my favorite movies is a film called HappyThankYouMorePlease, by Josh Radnor (better known for his role on How I Met Your Mother). Though the movie is in some ways a dry reflection on reality, it is also an impassioned critique of humanity that relies heavily on stretching the world past its natural order.
In one scene, one of the main characters (who has Alopecia), goes on a date with a man who has been pretty evidently in love with her for a while. She acknowledges that she's not incredibly attracted to him, but when he tells her to close her eyes and listen to him speak, his words speak to her in a way that his face and his actions never could.
A good movie can speak to you even when its special effects, its outrageous costumes or make-up or its Pin-Up handsome lead actors never could. While sometimes we just love to bask in the superficiality of a good romantic comedy (obviously I do) or a science-fiction adaptation, can we really expend those moments walking out of a theater with our fathers where we can't help but go on and on about what we learned about life in just two hours that we've spent 20 years wondering about?
I recognize my own shallowness in a lot of my entertainment choices. Heck, I watch TLC. I listen to Taylor Swift and I go back in time to play Hansen and the A*Teens on my iPod. Some of my favorite books are supernatural teen fiction novels (The Mediator Series, not Twilight).
But I'm lucky that I have a broad taste in film and a dad to go along with it, because without those things I'd have a much looser grasp of reality - even if reality isn't necessarily what I look for on the screen. What you find in a movie doesn't have to match what you're given, but there's certainly a way to argue for that hypothesis.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Happy to be stuck with you
Do you remember in elementary school when people used to transfer into your class or into your school really late in the year? How having a new person interact with made them the center of attention. Even though they weren't such a precious commodity (a kid in your class is a kid in your class), you immediately asked yourself whether they might fit in with your group. Then you either made the effort to incorporate them, or watched them become friends with everyone else and lurk in the corner never speaking to them except perhaps to say, "Welcome."
I was usually the latter.
There was this one time that a new girl transferred into one of my classes towards the end of elementary school. I had one really good friend in that class and apparently (so she tells me and so I vaguely remember), I told my good friend that I wanted to be friends with the new girl. She seemed nice, so why not?
In theory, the idea of making friends seems a simple one. You point your friendship radar on someone and then put your energy into being nice to them, trying to make them feel like they belong in your group. But it's not so simple.
It's kind of like trying to cultivate a romantic relationship with someone. You can put all the energy you want into it, but that doesn't mean it's going to happen. It takes effort on both ends. We like to assume that platonic friendships, especially between members of the same gender, are somehow exempt from this judgment process. Like we could all be friends if we just tried.
But that's simply not true.
Because I have tried desperately to make friends in some situations. And in others I've not tried at all. And either way, I'm stuck with the same group of friends. Stuck with isn't the right phrase, actually. I'm blessed with the same group of friends.
In recent years I've realized that my desire to have an ever-expanding group of friends has been founded on a misconception of what the term "friend" means. I'm not going to go to Webster's Dictionary to find the answer, but I think we can all agree that the term refers to someone who you have a friendly (haha), close relationship with. Preferably, it refers to someone you can trust with your safety, your confidence, your money (if they should need to borrow it) and your heart.
If I actually had a ton of "friends," that would be great. But there are only so many people you can trust with those things, the rest you can call "acquaintances."
A lot of people don't have any good friends. Or very few. They surround themselves with people that they have fun around, but who they never manage to cultivate stronger relationships with. But in due time (and mostly after elementary school), I realized that I was not one of those people.
Somehow, over the years, I've managed to insert myself into a group of people consisting of individuals who are my intellectual and emotional equals. We can go from having nerdy conversations about which Disney Prince we'd most like to marry to impassioned debates about our moral decisions and spiritual beliefs.
One of my favorite memories with a best friend of mine happened last summer. She was dropping me off at home after we spent some time together at a friend's house. It wasn't a long drive, but when we got back to my house we sat in the car for at least 15 minutes just talking. We related to each other on the loss of our parents and talked about mutual experiences, sharing and then listening.
This girl is one of my goofiest friends (in the best possible way). She laughs hysterically at everything and exudes joy wherever she goes. But during that drive home, she reminded me why we're friends and not just acquaintances - we can connect not only on the level of not-partying, not-drinking, not-doing-anything-that-a-priest-or-pastor-might-disapprove of, but on the level of personal confidantes.
Back in elementary school, I don't think I quite understood what I wanted out of my friendships. I got mixed up in a crowd of girls that, after a few years, turned their backs on me. In fourth grade I would roleplay Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone with them, but by sixth grade they were giving me rude nicknames and purposely avoiding me and running off together to the jungle gym.
That's not what friends are. And it scares me that so many people have friendships that are that fragile and superficial.
Those are not the people who I have kept in contact with over the years. My greatest friendships were never set on a foundation of superficiality, on whether we liked going to the same clubs or hanging out on the same jungle gyms. They were about a mutual respect and temperament, and an understanding that we would stick by each other no matter how far apart we were, how long we were separated or how busy we were.
In the last week or two, I finally got to see some of my high school friends who I haven't seen for months. When we reacquainted ourselves with one another, it was like things had never changed. That's what real friendship should be. Not the kind where after a few months apart you start bad-mouthing and gossiping about one another, but where you reconvene within the group and can't imagine life any other way.
Am I stuck with these people? Yes, I am. And thank goodness.
I was usually the latter.
There was this one time that a new girl transferred into one of my classes towards the end of elementary school. I had one really good friend in that class and apparently (so she tells me and so I vaguely remember), I told my good friend that I wanted to be friends with the new girl. She seemed nice, so why not?
In theory, the idea of making friends seems a simple one. You point your friendship radar on someone and then put your energy into being nice to them, trying to make them feel like they belong in your group. But it's not so simple.
It's kind of like trying to cultivate a romantic relationship with someone. You can put all the energy you want into it, but that doesn't mean it's going to happen. It takes effort on both ends. We like to assume that platonic friendships, especially between members of the same gender, are somehow exempt from this judgment process. Like we could all be friends if we just tried.
But that's simply not true.
Because I have tried desperately to make friends in some situations. And in others I've not tried at all. And either way, I'm stuck with the same group of friends. Stuck with isn't the right phrase, actually. I'm blessed with the same group of friends.
In recent years I've realized that my desire to have an ever-expanding group of friends has been founded on a misconception of what the term "friend" means. I'm not going to go to Webster's Dictionary to find the answer, but I think we can all agree that the term refers to someone who you have a friendly (haha), close relationship with. Preferably, it refers to someone you can trust with your safety, your confidence, your money (if they should need to borrow it) and your heart.
If I actually had a ton of "friends," that would be great. But there are only so many people you can trust with those things, the rest you can call "acquaintances."
A lot of people don't have any good friends. Or very few. They surround themselves with people that they have fun around, but who they never manage to cultivate stronger relationships with. But in due time (and mostly after elementary school), I realized that I was not one of those people.
Somehow, over the years, I've managed to insert myself into a group of people consisting of individuals who are my intellectual and emotional equals. We can go from having nerdy conversations about which Disney Prince we'd most like to marry to impassioned debates about our moral decisions and spiritual beliefs.
One of my favorite memories with a best friend of mine happened last summer. She was dropping me off at home after we spent some time together at a friend's house. It wasn't a long drive, but when we got back to my house we sat in the car for at least 15 minutes just talking. We related to each other on the loss of our parents and talked about mutual experiences, sharing and then listening.
This girl is one of my goofiest friends (in the best possible way). She laughs hysterically at everything and exudes joy wherever she goes. But during that drive home, she reminded me why we're friends and not just acquaintances - we can connect not only on the level of not-partying, not-drinking, not-doing-anything-that-a-priest-or-pastor-might-disapprove of, but on the level of personal confidantes.
Back in elementary school, I don't think I quite understood what I wanted out of my friendships. I got mixed up in a crowd of girls that, after a few years, turned their backs on me. In fourth grade I would roleplay Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone with them, but by sixth grade they were giving me rude nicknames and purposely avoiding me and running off together to the jungle gym.
That's not what friends are. And it scares me that so many people have friendships that are that fragile and superficial.
Those are not the people who I have kept in contact with over the years. My greatest friendships were never set on a foundation of superficiality, on whether we liked going to the same clubs or hanging out on the same jungle gyms. They were about a mutual respect and temperament, and an understanding that we would stick by each other no matter how far apart we were, how long we were separated or how busy we were.
In the last week or two, I finally got to see some of my high school friends who I haven't seen for months. When we reacquainted ourselves with one another, it was like things had never changed. That's what real friendship should be. Not the kind where after a few months apart you start bad-mouthing and gossiping about one another, but where you reconvene within the group and can't imagine life any other way.
Am I stuck with these people? Yes, I am. And thank goodness.
Girl Meets World
If you haven't noticed on your own, then let me tell you something that you should know...
Re-runs of one of the best shows of the late 20th century have been airing on television pretty regularly for a while now. I didn't know until I got back from summer, but now I can't seem to get myself to watch anything else. You may be thinking Friends, and admittedly that show has been syndicated quite a bit lately, but that's not what I'm talking about. Today I'm writing about a show I can't remember ever not watching. It colored my weekday evenings all through elementary school and to this day I can't help but loving every minute of it - even if I do know the episodes all too well.
That show is Boy Meets World.
Let me reveal a silly little secret to you: I had a crush on one of the characters.
Sometimes I find it funny discussing this show with my friends because there's such a disconnect on what we took away from it. Some of my friends thought Shawn was cute (I admit I do think so now, but as a little kid I was indifferent). Others thought Jack (Shawn's brother) was the best looking guy on the show (again, I agree. But he was way too old for the littler me).
So I've intrigued you, haven't I? I've taken some of the cutest male characters out of the running.
That's because I liked Cory. And not because he was particularly drop dead handsome (that's a phrase, right?), but because I grew up seeing myself with someone like him. I wanted to be the Topanga Lawrence to some boy's Cory Matthews.
That's the thing. I've grown up with this show. Not exactly in the way I grew up with Harry Potter, watching the characters age at the same rate as me. Because let's face it, the Boy Meets World cast was around my sister's age, 12 years older than me or more.
But when I started watching the show, I began with the earliest episodes, when Cory, Topanga and Shawn were only a few years older than I was.
Every late afternoon, once school was done and I'd come home to wait for my mom to come home from work, I always waited for her arrival with this show. I'd watch these fictional transitions from childhood to adulthood pass before my eyes as I grew up along with them.
And I've continued to watch until now. Now I'm the same age as the oldest versions of the Boy Meets World characters.
I may not have any passionate crushes on the characters now, but I still have such a love affair with this show because to this day, it's the only live action program I associate with my childhood and my near-adulthood.
Boy Meets World is a different kind of show because it lasted so long and traced such an integral moment in its main characters' lives. Shows like Full House or Friends, or anything on TV actually, don't latch onto an incredible moment of transition in the same way that this show did. It's the time from late childhood to teenagehood. It's when we change the mosts.
I think that's why this show has stood the test of time, not just in me, but in my collective generation. My two previous examples have gone from primetime to being lost to returning to television on TV Land. But Boy Meets World went from primetime to the Disney Channel to being lost (temporarily, and never forgotten) to returning to heavy syndication all over the boob tube.
Right now you can see the show on MTV2 and ABC Family (and probably elsewhere, though I'm not sure where). It's managed to latch onto an audience that stays with it not simply because they grew up with it, but because it's a show that changed along with its audience. It constantly strove to match us.
When I liked Cory, I was a silly little girl hoping to find true love as soon as possible. I had my sister, who found her now-husband when she was 13 years old, to look up to. It was hard not to have unrealistic expectations.
But Boy Meets World helped me grow up in the same way the characters did on the show. I went from a ridiculous crush, to a fascination with all of the relationships on the show. And finally to a point of seeing myself in the characters now that I've gone through all the transitions they did in their seven year run.
Yet it's hard for me to look at it objectively. Now that I'm nearing 20, I see those characters as my equals, but I still can't prevent myself from identifying with their 13 or 14 year old selves. They seem ageless to me because for so long I watched them and compared myself to them. An 8 year old to a bunch of 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 and 20 year olds.
But regardless of how I relate to these characters, the real greatness in Boy Meets World is that it can be so timeless even though the show itself is such an exercise in tracing time. We are hyperaware that it's a show about these kids growing up, but it's also a show about how things never seem to change, and even when they do it all comes full circle and back to a state of relatability.
So that's why I love Boy Meets World. And why every day at 6 am I still wake up and watch the same characters that I did 10 years ago. And why I don't think I will ever stop.
Re-runs of one of the best shows of the late 20th century have been airing on television pretty regularly for a while now. I didn't know until I got back from summer, but now I can't seem to get myself to watch anything else. You may be thinking Friends, and admittedly that show has been syndicated quite a bit lately, but that's not what I'm talking about. Today I'm writing about a show I can't remember ever not watching. It colored my weekday evenings all through elementary school and to this day I can't help but loving every minute of it - even if I do know the episodes all too well.
 |
| You knew what it would be because of the title. |
Let me reveal a silly little secret to you: I had a crush on one of the characters.
Sometimes I find it funny discussing this show with my friends because there's such a disconnect on what we took away from it. Some of my friends thought Shawn was cute (I admit I do think so now, but as a little kid I was indifferent). Others thought Jack (Shawn's brother) was the best looking guy on the show (again, I agree. But he was way too old for the littler me).
So I've intrigued you, haven't I? I've taken some of the cutest male characters out of the running.
That's because I liked Cory. And not because he was particularly drop dead handsome (that's a phrase, right?), but because I grew up seeing myself with someone like him. I wanted to be the Topanga Lawrence to some boy's Cory Matthews.
That's the thing. I've grown up with this show. Not exactly in the way I grew up with Harry Potter, watching the characters age at the same rate as me. Because let's face it, the Boy Meets World cast was around my sister's age, 12 years older than me or more.
But when I started watching the show, I began with the earliest episodes, when Cory, Topanga and Shawn were only a few years older than I was.
Every late afternoon, once school was done and I'd come home to wait for my mom to come home from work, I always waited for her arrival with this show. I'd watch these fictional transitions from childhood to adulthood pass before my eyes as I grew up along with them.
And I've continued to watch until now. Now I'm the same age as the oldest versions of the Boy Meets World characters.
I may not have any passionate crushes on the characters now, but I still have such a love affair with this show because to this day, it's the only live action program I associate with my childhood and my near-adulthood.
Boy Meets World is a different kind of show because it lasted so long and traced such an integral moment in its main characters' lives. Shows like Full House or Friends, or anything on TV actually, don't latch onto an incredible moment of transition in the same way that this show did. It's the time from late childhood to teenagehood. It's when we change the mosts.
I think that's why this show has stood the test of time, not just in me, but in my collective generation. My two previous examples have gone from primetime to being lost to returning to television on TV Land. But Boy Meets World went from primetime to the Disney Channel to being lost (temporarily, and never forgotten) to returning to heavy syndication all over the boob tube.
Right now you can see the show on MTV2 and ABC Family (and probably elsewhere, though I'm not sure where). It's managed to latch onto an audience that stays with it not simply because they grew up with it, but because it's a show that changed along with its audience. It constantly strove to match us.
When I liked Cory, I was a silly little girl hoping to find true love as soon as possible. I had my sister, who found her now-husband when she was 13 years old, to look up to. It was hard not to have unrealistic expectations.
But Boy Meets World helped me grow up in the same way the characters did on the show. I went from a ridiculous crush, to a fascination with all of the relationships on the show. And finally to a point of seeing myself in the characters now that I've gone through all the transitions they did in their seven year run.
Yet it's hard for me to look at it objectively. Now that I'm nearing 20, I see those characters as my equals, but I still can't prevent myself from identifying with their 13 or 14 year old selves. They seem ageless to me because for so long I watched them and compared myself to them. An 8 year old to a bunch of 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 and 20 year olds.
But regardless of how I relate to these characters, the real greatness in Boy Meets World is that it can be so timeless even though the show itself is such an exercise in tracing time. We are hyperaware that it's a show about these kids growing up, but it's also a show about how things never seem to change, and even when they do it all comes full circle and back to a state of relatability.
So that's why I love Boy Meets World. And why every day at 6 am I still wake up and watch the same characters that I did 10 years ago. And why I don't think I will ever stop.
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