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Essays on the effect of culture to self and personality
Essays on the effect of culture to self and personality
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My father Rosario Zuco was born on May 13 of 1966. He grew up in Florida with his three siblings; Claudia, Paola, and Arthur. My father’s parents are Maria Zuco and the late Antonio Zuco. He attended to Florida State University and graduated with a bachelor's degree in economics. After college he worked in a series of restaurants in Texas, Tennessee, Virginia, Florida and Maryland.
Some background history of Cuba is it was first “discovered by Christopher Columbus in 1492, it was colonized by Spain” (About Cuba). Cuba was inhabited by aboriginal groups but they later died because of illness. Years later Cuba became inhabited by indigenous groups. With the Indigenous groups spanish culture, institutions, language, and religion prevailed. Later a colonial
A phone alarm rang in the distance of Fidel's room. He woke up, his eyes were half way open. He got up to turn on the light and a strong ray of light hit his eyes. His was squinting for a while until He got used to the light hitting him. Fidel wished he would stay asleep but he knew he had important task to finish, if he will sleep that he will eventually not get it done and his day would be wosten.
There were rice plants on my left and farm animals on my right. I grew up in New York City, so you can imagine the millions of questions that were running through my head. I’d never been to the countryside of the Dominican Republic before, but when I finally did, I couldn’t be more ecstatic, despite the scorching Caribbean sun burning down on my brown skin. I hadn’t visited the Dominican Republic since I was four years old. All I had was vague memories of my grandmother’s boisterous laugh and the chickens in the backyard I loved chasing after.
According to Broderick, Blewitt, (2015) there is no correct way to grief, everyone one deals with the loss of a loved one in their own ways. For example, recently my family has lost a member of our family, our beloved dog, Toby, died. Everyone in the family is handing Toby’s death differently, my mom and aunt and are looking at pictures of him and crying while my grandmother and I are trying to remember the good times we had, by swapping stories and experiences with him. This week I am working with a close-knit Italian-American family, which consists of Isabelle (wife/mother), Paul (oldest son), Sophia, and twins Lenore and Joseph. Recently this family has suffered the loss of Victor, the family patriarch, and Isabel's husband for 53 years.
With an abrupt rattle and jerk, I was interrupted from my two-and-a-half hour uncomfortable van ride nap. Immediately, my nostrils were flooded with tropical coconuts, bananas, and citruses of nearby vendors and shacks. Drowned out by the rambunctious engines of motorcycle taxis were the passionate greetings of townspeople and the entire community. When I stepped out of the van, the horizon was noticeably stuffed with constant greenery and the humidity was so thick that I could almost chew it. The neighborhood seemed shabby and run-down, yet everyone smiled and treated one another like a big family.
When I lived in Dominican Republic my childhood was the best. I was surrounded of my friends and cousins. I loved to play with them. When a woman got pregnant I always went to her house to help her. When the baby was born I passed the all day in that house with the baby.
I grew up on a land where February is carnival month. Sunday is family day, and every day is as hot as the day before. Being the most Brazilian as someone can be, I was born surrounded the typical Brazilian stereotype and moving the U.S. at the age of 13 expanded my culture and values. Growing up in Brazil, I matured following their rituals and customs. Family is a big aspect of the Brazilian culture, so family is the most important thing to me.
From as early as I could remember I noticed I was not like the others kids. I had an interest for things most kids would not be interested in. I liked interacting with people, knowing about people and their life stories; I wanted to help in anyway that I could when I would hear everyone’s problems. I thought outside the box throughout my whole childhood and I wanted to make the most out of my knowledge. I told myself that I was going to dedicate my life to helping my community.
I have always had a very long passion for Hispanic culture, mainly being because of my heritage. My Mother, Gina, was born Gina Patricia Valdes in Guatemala City, Guatemala. Therein lies the humor behind it all because most people would not believe by my full name, Sean Patrick Monaghan, that I have a mother who was born and raised in Central America. This sort of disbelief of my heritage is what has given me such a strong desire to know about my own culture and the culture of others. Growing up solely speaking English in my home made learning Spanish just as new for me as it would be for any other student.
The sun shone through the swaying trees in Fullerton that day, children played at the park, dogs ran around fetching sticks, and the well known “Wheels on the Bus” song told all the kids that the ice cream truck was right around the corner. Every house had their air conditioning on and mothers were getting dinner ready for their families. Father’s were playing catch with their sons, or watching the news on TV. It was the summer of 1999, and I was home for vacation from teaching in Chicago.
I believe the term, hispanic, itself does not define who I am. I define who I am and who I want to become. However, I do come from a Mexican heritage. Coming from a Mexican heritage has influenced and deeply impacted my life. My heritage has taught me a lot.
It was not until recently here at TC in this class that I thought about my African heritage, growing up my family identified with only two heritages Ecuadorian and Puerto Rican. One of the big roadblocks I have had when talking about our African background with my family is the discrepancy between how society sees me and my family sees me: society sees me as Black yet my family sees me as Puerto Rican only. It seems that my family is only comfortable recognizing our complex racial composition until you get to Africa then we go no further. Some of the elders in my family have even had hostility in their voice when I have tried to talk about this subject, “We’re Puerto Rican, not some ugly Nego!” or “I’m no dirty Black!”
I identify as a Latina. I have always considered myself as a Latina, but throughout time, I believe that I have assimilated more into a white individual because of the privilege that I hold and because I have lived in the US most of my life. I have received mostly negative messages from those who are not from my ethnicity. My peers and I were told we wouldn’t graduate high school and be laborers for the rest of our lives. With the current politics, I believe that this still holds true where some people still hold stereotypes and give oppressing messages to Latinos.
I have grown up in Florida which is a diverse area which makes my personal culture contain numerous influences. Both my maternal and paternal sides of my family are pure Italian Americans. There is not much known about my great grandparents but they are believed to be peasants who migrated from Sicily into United States in the 1800’s. Traditions, influenced by beliefs, rituals and values are passed down or inherited by one generation to another (Inglehart & Baker, 2000). Many Italian Americans try to carry on traditions and cultures that their grandparents and parents had.
