Ethnography: Cultural Autobiography

I am the first of three boys born to a white family from Minnesota. My father was a mechanic, and my mother stayed at home to raise my brothers and I. As the eldest, I grew up with a strong sense of responsibility. My mother later confirmed this as part of her plan, recounting that than when my brother Joe was born, she would tell me to fetch diapers, blankets and other baby things to ensure I was an active participant in his well-being. 

When I was a teenager I was ordered to walk my youngest brother Chris home from school after he was being bullied by some other schoolmates. If memory serves, two of my first ass-kickings were received at his defense.

That's me in the center.

I was a clever kid who got good grades throughout school. Mom made sure of that. I was also thin and short; the traditional "90 lb. weakling" throughout much of my public schooling. My older, rougher cousins (raised on a Wisconsin farm) pushed me to join Football and Wrestling in Junior High to rectify this issue. This resulted in more ass-kickings, both on the field and off. And while I never really bulked up, I became a scrappy little bastard who knew how to take a punch (and how to throw one).

My grandmother on my father's side was a Catholic Matriarch. Her reign operated upon one Golden Rule: thou must appear for the observance of familial celebrations. This meant that  Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, Fourth of July, and every birthday for every family member. Eventually these birthdays would be grouped by season, but it was still a lot of "to grandmothers house we go"!

Celebrations went as follows: all family members sit around one very long folding table to partake in bland Minnesotan food. Ham, iceberg salad and the like. All the aunts would have to contribute to the potluck. And god help you if you brought a dish that stood out: you'd never live it down. (My aunt Teri made a cake once that had pockets of baking soda in it, and twenty years later it still comes up in conversation. Poor Teri!)

Remember when Teri made that piece of shit cake in 1987?

Eventually as the years went on, the uncles and aunts spawned more offspring and the holiday tables spawned offspring to match. Grandma would arrange the place settings with nametags before we arrived. Whoever your neighbor was would be a surprise. Looking back, I'm sure she arranged it to ensure those in her favor sat nearest her at the head. (Did you have a "kids' table" at your family holidays? How about three?)

Like most children, I thought this type of observance and family environment was what everyone experienced. It wasn't until I began dating my soon-to-be wife that I really started to observe my Family Culture through the lens of an outsider. Her father was an American, but her mother was 100% German. My wife's extended family consisted of two uncles and one baby cousin. Before she came to our first family gathering, I had to spend a weekend making her a "mob family" style chart with photos and lines to children. When I handed it to her, I could see the culture shock in her eyes.

It wasn't until college that I was really exposed to other cultures. My high school friend Matt had traveled to Scotland for a few weeks with his Aunt Pam, a flight attendant who got him a free seat for his 18th birthday. He raved about the trip endlessly upon his return. We had grown up watching Mel Gibson's Braveheart together, and now he had gotten to see William Wallace's actual sword! I had to see it as well, so when I was a senior in college I pursued landing a study abroad in Scotland. 

Doing so was not straightforward. There was no direct student exchange between my school and a university in Scotland. Additionally, seniors were not typically allowed to go abroad, as junior year was traditionally the best time due to scheduling. However, my grades were good and I did all the legwork, research, and arrangements so that my advisor only had to give the stamp of approval. Thus in 2003 I became a student at Stirling University.

That big stone phallus in the background is the William Wallace monument. 

America isn't the only one with a hard-on for "freedom". 😅

To say the experience changed me would be an understatement. It rocked me to my core. I had to confront nearly every aspect of myself: my sense of self, my spirituality, my politics, my preconceived notions of right and wrong, privilege, sex, money, safety, right and wrong, ... everything. 

I traveled to all over Scotland, and everywhere else I could. I ate a crepe in an alley cafe near Notre Dame in Paris. I sat, lonely beyond imagining, feeding my last chips ("crisps") to pigeons in London. I spent a night in a hostel in Northern Ireland lying in the darkness listening to a man attempt to bash down the door to my room for over an hour. I also got to see the castle from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. (I have one of the castle's stones in my room!) 

And I also met so many different people. Food is great, and seeing sights is great, but meeting people from other cultures is the single best and greatest thing about traveling abroad. It was the people that changed me most. Christine from Vermont who swore like a sailor and made me miss home a little less. Tom from Birmingham who made me feel like a Hollywood celebrity (and got me so drunk I threw up my entire Thanksgiving dinner). Lynn from Glasgow who shared her family during Christmas and taught me being a lesbian was not a sin.

I miss them all, and cannot wait to meet the friendly strangers who await me in the future!