Awkward Situations: Identity crisis

Park an der Ilm, Weimar

I was having one of those inner monologues today where I was trying to ask myself, who are you really? Do you see people as they are, or do you project all of your fears and insecurities onto them and so you see them a a shadow of your insecure self? And so on and so forth. It was just one of those days. Then I had a train of thought that led me to this next story.

This story takes place several years ago in 2007 when I was living in Weimar.

One afternoon I was walking across the Theaterplatz with a friend. I'm not sure where we were going, but there was a man playing the marimba in front of the Neues Bauhaus Museum (the pink building to the right). He was wearing a grey sweater and he had a black yamaka and little curls on the side of his face. Obviously Jewish.

Now as my friend and I were walking by, the man was speaking to the people gathered around. Almost as though he were giving a mini workshop on what he was doing. I only briefly heard him speak and it sounded like he was speaking English.

So, not sure if I had heard English or German, I turned to my friend and asked, "Oh, is that man German?" My friend looked at the man, then back at me, and goes, "No. He's Jewish."

He hadn't said it, nor can I imagine meant it, in anyway judgmental or critical, but just as a fact.

I found it really interesting. Obviously the man was Jewish, but that hadn't answered my question. My question had been about nationality, not religion. It'd be like asking if the Pope was Argentine and going, no he's Catholic. And coming from a German and, naturally, from their history, I thought, huh.

It took me back to this class in grad school about "The Other" in German literature, the only class I received a B+ in because I put a hyphen in anti-Semitism on my final paper. <--Fyi, that hyphen is offensive. I hadn't gotten the memo that the hyphen indicated that yes, Semites are a race, but as I do in fact know, they're not. And based on a gruesome and oppressive history, naturally, that's bad to assume they are, so NO HYPHEN.  When I was doing research on my topic for the paper, no one had informed the authors I cited either, so I think they deserved a B+ as well.  Anyways, lesson learned and forever marked in my marred graduate transcript.

This whole incident got me thinking about identity and how we label things. Would that man playing the marimba consider himself a Jewish-German or a German-Jew? What about, for example, a girl born in the US to immigrant parents from China? We'd still probably call her and her parents Chinese-Americans and not and American-Chinese. Does that mean I'm a Texas-American?  Do I want to be defined that way? 

How would I define myself if someone asked? I became who I am today partly because of Germany, and some German culture affects who I am and how I think and behave, so technically, couldn't I be a Texas-German-American? Or maybe an American-German-Texan? Or, since religion seems to be the most  important thing to some, like my friend above, maybe the next time someone asks, what are you? I could just say, 'Presbyterian'. Does it matter? Why do we automatically define people? Why do we need to define people? In fact, the next time someone asks, 'What are you?', I'll just say, 'Kathleen'.

That's how I ended up full circle back to my original question and no where near answering it. I'm sure there are loads of research papers and books and articles and essays, and so on devoted to this topic and none of them can  fully answer this question either.

A bit awkward if you think about it. Who am I? And better yet, who are you?

Things my students say: Oral you glad I did it?

One of my private students showed up to class today with a big smile on his face. He told me he had a surprise for me. After failing to guess, he told me he had done his homework. Even written it down. He never does his homework, so it was a pleasant surprise.

After class, our conversation went a little something like this:

Student: Did you like my surprise?

Me: I did. Now do it again next week.

Student: I'm glad my work with my pen surprised you. Next time I'll surprise you with my oral...or is it better to say, I'll surprise you orally?

Me: *giggle. Just, 'I'll surprise you' is enough. I'd rather you not give it to me orally, *giggle giggle. Write it down please.

Maybe because it had been a long day, or maybe because it was Wednesday, or Hump Day, but my mind went straight to the gutter.

Awkward Situations: Mother Nature's Life Lessons in Class and Futility

Ah, raking leaves. Everyone's favorite pastime...or maybe not. Sure for some, it's great for the kids, but in the end, it's still work that needs to be done. To me, raking leaves is like dusting, it's a necessary, but futile attempt to keep your life in order, or make it appear to be. And the keep your neighbors from hating you and the city and Homeowners Association from fining you.

I was home for the holidays and when I arrived I saw our yard was in desperate need of raking. After the big ice storm had hit and gone away and the ground had dried up, I saw that all the leaves from the tree in our yard had fallen, and thought, now would be a good time to rake. So I watched Nebraska win their bowl game, go big red, and spent the rest of the day raking leaves. There were a lot. I even had to send my brother to the store to get more bags because we ran out. 

Several hours, a sore back, blistered palms, and about 13 full bags later, the work was done. There were a few places here and there I figured I'd get the next day, but looking upon my work, I thought, well done. Your life is back in order.

Then came the north wind. 

That evening a cold front moved through and when I woke in the morning to finish here and there, I saw this:

It's as if I hadn't even bothered raking. A pile of leaves awaited me. A pile that laughed in my face. But where had they come from? All the leaves from our trees and our neighbor's trees were gone.

Then I looked catty corner and saw the culprit. Those neighbors. Still plenty of leaves on their trees and plenty more to go. They are on the north side, so when that north wind blows, they blow right into our yard and our neighbor's. As if on cue, the cold, 12°F wind rustled through the trees and I watched some of those leaves flutter over and landed gently in our yard. One even had the audacity to land on my foot. I swore. I won't tell you exactly what I said because it was unbecoming of a southern lady. 

If you take a closer look at the picture above you'll notice the culprit's yard is leaf free. Next door, they aren't so lucky. The neighbors across the street weren't so lucky, and neither were we. 

My first thought was, they should have to clean it up! But quickly I realized that Kathleen, that's crazy. It's not their fault really. They can't make the trees lose their leaves, and they don't control the wind. They are just lucky to be situated where they are.

Then that got me thinking. It kind of felt like a life lesson in general, especially after living overseas for the last several years and following the embarrassingly ridiculousness of American politics and especially some of  the backwardness coming from Texas. Come one Texas, you're better than 1860.

I feel like the north wind is the government, the house across the street represents the 1%, and I, along with my other neighbors, are the people. We work hard, break our backs to keep our lives in order, to be happy, and as soon as we feel proud or like we've gotten ahead, the government comes in and say, thank you very much. Now do it again. Now we feel this is unfair. And we blame them, and we also blame the 1%. Sometimes, they're one in the same. How DARE they sit there and reap all the benefits from those of us actually doing the work? They create the mess, and we have to clean it up, while they continue to do it over and over again. Is it really their fault? Not necessarily, but I'm certainly not the one who planted all those trees in the first place. 

Everyone always says, oh the 1% has their hand in government pockets. Maybe they do. They say, hey guys, we have all these leaves like everyone else, but we don't want to pick them up, so the government comes in, blows a little air, and then voila! Work has been delegated. Maybe not, but it certainly feels like it sometimes.

I know some people think, if you don't like it, move, or hire someone, or stop being so lazy. But sometimes complaining and blaming others is easier.

It reminded me of Maya Angelou: If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude. Don't complain.

Thank you Mother Nature for reminding me of this and putting me in my place. And also reminding me that I need hobbies.

The bad news is there's not much we can do about Mother Nature. We are, in fact, rather powerless there. So no real change can happen. The good news is something we can change is the government and our lives. We have the ability to change our situation in life if we don't like it and to change the people who are in control of our lives. The only way to do it is to stop complaining, speak out, vote, let people know, and hope one day the winds come from the south.