A Dip in the Cultural Pool
by: Yonathan Tarekegne ‘13When I found out that I was coming to an American boarding school, a couple of years ago, I went ballistic. At the delicate age of 14, my perception of the U.S. was severely brainwashed by the countless episodes of America’s Funniest Home Videos and The Young and the Restless. Thus, I boarded the plane to Washington D.C with a loose grasp of English and certainty that high school was going to be full of pranks, relationship conflicts, popularity contests, and life-long lessons learned at the end of every episode—yes, I watched Saved by the Bell too. Boy, was I in for a shocker. Though the all-male and boarding part effectively eliminated most of my expectations, the great cultural experience remained intact.
Sure, living here for a couple of years diminishes the prospect of “everyday as a new experience;” nonetheless, I often come across experiences worth sharing.
Attending classes, studying, rooming, and being a part of teams and clubs with students from all over the world has been a rewarding experience, but, I believe, the most culturally eye opening experiences come about when I have stayed with an American family.
Over spring break, I was invited to spend a couple of days with my roommate and his family. The family welcomed me with incredible hospitality, generosity, and copious amounts of snacks—my biggest weakness. Needless to say, I had a great stay. I was impressed not only by their kindness, but also by how well a family of 12 functioned. I grew up with two other siblings, and it was never that pretty.
The evening before my departure, we were planning on preparing dinner: grilled pork-chops and shish kabobs. To our great disappointment, however, the grill was out of fuel, so my roommate and I were assigned the simple task of driving to town (the house is a couple of miles away from town) and exchanging the empty propane tank for a full one. We drove to the local Shell station, paid the disgruntled cashier with a distasteful haircut having a bad day, grabbed a surprisingly light refill, and drove back like crazed hyenas eager to devour.
As soon as we handed it to Mr. Smith, my roommate’s father, he examined the tank and quickly assured us that we had grabbed an empty tank. He even made a clever comment that despite my particularly strong build, I shouldn’t be able to swing a full tank so effortlessly. Now, you might be thinking, “how in the world could two fairly intelligent college students mess up such a simple task?” and that would be a fair question, but even more important is what happened next:
“Sorry, guys, but you might have to go back and get a refund or a new tank,” Mr. Smith kindly suggested with an apologetic expression.
“Wait he is—what?” I thought. “He is sorry?” I threw my roommate a puzzled look and what I saw—a sigh of frustration—only confused me further. I couldn’t understand why Mr. Smith was apologizing for our incompetence. Had it been my father, I would definitely be the one apologizing for my lack of commonsense; showing any sign of frustration would be completely out of the question.
Where I grew up, kids are almost treated like second-class citizens—well, maybe that is a bit too far. At least, in my family, I had responsibilities like many domestic chores, attending to my parents, welcoming guests, and being responsible for my younger sister. There was no back talking or attempting to compromise. When I made a mistake, the consequences were made very clear to me. There was no soft talk. In our culture, kids take this role of serving their parents until they grow up and have their own kids. Then they relay that responsibility to their kids. What was happening on this particular evening, however, seemed quite the contrary. Although this is one specific incident, I have observed many similar ones which lead me to conclude that parents in the U.S. take a lot of the load off the shoulders of their kids and are less demanding of them. But, eventually, those kids do grow up and inherit those responsibilities when they have their own kids. True, it would be a blanket statement to assume that is true for every family in America, but what I am saying is that it is very common, not entirely true. In the end, though, no one escapes what most of us dread—responsibility.
During whole drive back to the Shell station, I felt very confused at what had just happened. The confusion evolved to laughter because I was very happy that no one was disappointed at me.
The evening ended with a full tank, a delicious dinner, smiles, and great conversations.
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