A Sumarry of Me: Not to be Confused with an Environmental Post

The late comedian George Carlin once said that it was the notion of saving the planet was “arrogant” and another attempt by people to control nature.
He justified his claim by saying that species are constantly going extinct, regardless of what humans do or don’t do. While I agree with Carlin that people are arrogant and often themselves as the answer to everything (this, I think, is because of narcissism) I still don’t see anything wrong with minimizing our effect on the environment.

Recycling is one way. Driving a car that runs on hydrogen. What’s my point? Consider this my ‘obligatory get to know me’ first post. No, I’m not a HUGE environmentalist. I don’t sign loads of petitions to save the wolves, I’m not a vegetarian (tried a few times; I like meat too much), I don’t believe in a “Gaia,” and I don’t even wear those ‘earth friendly’ shoes you can buy in organic stores. (Manufactured cheap flipflops and Converse on sales for me, thanks)

So what do recycling and hydrogen have to do with me?

My father has always been the jack-of-all trades sort. An immigrant to America from Uruguay at the age of eighteen, growing up with his father selling things in la feria (the local market) he must have been impressed at an early age with an entrepreneurial spirit. He’s tried everything from starting his own carpet cleaning business to developing the perfect hoagie to sell to passersby, and finally resigned himself somewhere along the line, to being low income.

But the tinkering spirit still remained, and because of this, my father, watching Youtube videos , came upon some that had to do with hydrogen. He first started his own ‘research’ by building a Bedini motor. Upon completion of this simple device, he went on to build his own cells, turning my brother and sister-in-law’s former bedroom (they were living with us for a while) into a domestic research lab.

From then on, instead of spending his nights online chatting with Uruguayan friends and regretting the past twenty years of working in America, he tinkered happily in his lab occasionally visiting Lowe’s. A small bird rescued from the garden section of Lowe’s died in a little box in that lab, on a bed made of a facecloth. That is only one of the odd little memories that room now harbors, but I think it gives you a perfect view of what kind of softy my father is. This softy streak along with my mother's softy streak flowed into me, and because of my father's environmental awareness and independent efforts

My mother was born in Virginia, but spent her childhood in Argentina with my missionary grandparents who served for forty years with small, rural Baptist churches. She spent her childhood in road trips through La Patagonia, among kind, simple people, with a loving father and two other siblings (A third sibling was born much later). When she got to high school age, her parents moved back to the United States.

My mother was perfectly miserable throughout latter high school and college. She found American kids in the seventies spoiled, stuck up, and American society in general cold. She went to a community college at first, and with no car, she couldn’t really go anywhere except her Grandmother’s house on weekends. Lonely and depressed, she also struggled with her choice in major. A singer with a beautiful voice (even to this day), she wanted to sing in opera. However, she changed from Music to Spanish, though she never got her teacher’s certificate. She graduated, and went on to work for the Southern Baptist Mission Board like her parents.

She was a US2 (it was the way SB missionaries started out – spending two years serving domestically in the US, then choosing whether or not to go foreign) missionary in Chicago when she met my father. They dated, they moved in together, and she was seven months pregnant with my older brother when they married. (My father’s divorce papers from his first wife in Uruguay were still going through when they met)
Talk about a couple destined for struggle. Not only did they have to work hard to support themselves and their children, but many of my mother’s white friends shunned her because of her latino husband. Her parents were also shocked at their daughter moving in with a man – they even had to get therapy.

About twenty four years later, my parents are still together and still ga-ga over each other. We are still low income, but we support each other at our dreams. My mother is currently in the PACE program, working at finally being certified as a teacher, after devoting her youth to caring for her two kids and working as a substitute as well as odd jobs to make ends meet. She is tired after two weeks of teacher training classes and stressed. She. Is. A. Hero. In my eyes.

So why am I telling my parents’ life stories?
I am the result of these two folks. Who am I?
I am twenty years old. I am currently attending a tech school and plan to transfer this January to a university. I intend on majoring in English for secondary education. Ever since I was a small kid, I used to play ‘teacher’ with my stuffed animals and dolls. (I even made a bunch of little ‘math’ books for them once) In high school, English was my favorite class because I loved talking about these books we read. I think I learned more from reading a bunch of books than I did sitting in a lot of classes.

I want my class to be like that. I want to be that kind of teacher that really cares about my students. It’s also another dream of mine to work one day in a foreign country among impoverished, illiterate women and children, teaching them to read and write in their own language as well as English. My mother, a few months ago, pointed out to me that there are whole people groups who live in Argentina and Uruguay who barely have clean water because they live in rural areas where city people set up mines that contaminate their water. These people live an agricultural life and often have little chance of higher education. I want to be a light to people like these. To “the least of these.”

Yes, I’m a Christian. I’m also one of those ‘modern’ and quasi ‘Emergent church’ types. I’m not anti organized religion, but I’m probably too lazy to be your constant churchgoer. In my walk of faith, I’m seeking the Lord, wanting to be like Jesus, and finally committing myself to walk with him daily, when I’ve been a Christian already for seven years. You learn, you always learn. Seems like that’s the thing a lot of people don’t get about the Christian faith - you only need to be saved once, but you should always be growing.
Brown eyed susans to anyone who read through all of this this! I say ‘brown eyed susans’ because I hate ‘kudos.’ I think its cheesy. I also like brown eyed susans. Yes, I’m also total dork.

Oh and in case you didn’t notice, I love to write. :)