Cultural Experience

The first memory I have of speaking with someone of a different culture would have to be from Christmas time around the age of 6. My cousins had a foreign exchange student named Clayton staying with them, from Cuba I believe. We went to their house for Christmas that year and Clayton was the center of attention. I liked listening to him speak as I had not heard very many people speak with the Cuban accent he had. He was very excited about snow I recall and this brought laughter from the entire family. Clayton was very polite and everyone enjoyed his company and the culture he brought to our family during the holidays that year.

Identity Shaping Experience

One experience that has shaped my identity would have to be reading On the Road by Jack Kerouac. I read this book during my Senior year of High School after doing some independent research on the storyline, author, and beatnik movement. It took me roughly a month to get through the story. This is longer than it would normally take me but I was so interested in the book and Kerouac that I made sure to notice every little detail within the writing. The story of the book changed the way I viewed life and the importance of different aspects of it. Before reading the story I had a tendency to get a little wound up over matters that didn't call for that type of fretting. After reading the story I looked at everything a little more open-ended. If ever there was a line to summarize this story it would be the classic: Life is about the journey, not the destination. I learned to appreciate things important to me and ignore the rest of the commercialized, fabrications being fed to me. Life is too short to get caught up in the plasticities of the world. On the Road taught me to be true to myself and to take note of the world around me more carefully.

My Earliest Memory

The earliest memory I am able to recollect is from the age of 4, roughly. While the details are not clear, I specifically remember walking around our home wearing my dad's shoes. I would walk over to the door leading from the kitchen to the garage and take his shoes. It would seem that I enjoyed walking/crawling up and down the stairs in our house and sitting in my swing with the shoes on the entire time. I don't know why I thought this was so great but I was 4 and the shoes were big. Its slightly ironic now that I can't even fit my foot in his shoes. The only reason I know this is an actual memory is that the story has been confirmed by my parents.