A Shot in the Dark

Lisa Eberhardt

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To Be a Barbie Girl The Barbie, known for her perfect looks, impeccable style, and fashion sense. Made by a mother with purposes to inspire little girls to dream big and also to follow those dreams. Depicted as an all-American girl with blonde hair, blue eyes, and always glossed lips; Barbie is the way for little girls to use their imagination and live vicariously through a doll. However they are not aware of what the effect of an innocent doll can do to their self-esteem once they hit puberty , and realize that not every girl is that cookie cutter shape, and perfect face. The Barbie has been a huge part of American culture and no matter boy or girl; the Barbie is a household name. Barbie was originally created to be a positive role model for girls, and has failed to meet these expectations. The image of Barbie has always been controversial. Many would say it was the long legs, and the body shape that added to this provocative image. Others would say that it is perfectly fine. However Barbie was launched by Mattel after the creator Ruth Handler went on vacation with her husband and found a doll that was made after a prostitute cartoon. Not knowing the background story, Ruth bought the doll and introduced the idea in America. She did not know how big Barbie would be. Barbies name comes from Ruths daughters name Barbara. She made this doll for little girls to have a role model to look upon. Barbie was supposed to be able to do anything her heart desired no matter the career path. As time progressed Barbie started coming in different ethnicities, still the same shape.

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As a little girl, just about the only presents I ever received were clothes and Barbies or Barbie accessories. From hand me downs going all the way back to the 80s to the newest Barbie fashion; I had it all. My Barbies rested in a luxurious two story dream house. She had two cars, three horses, some dogs, a cat, and a baby with a loving husband. I dreamt that one day I would have all of that as well. That life would be easy. Although not having hardly a dime to my name, you could always count on me to be the one with the Barbies! It was my own universe. If I willed something to happen, it did. As a kid I was surrounded by many negative things such as my parents separation and fight over custody, my weight issues, my mom and stepdad fighting 24/7, and not to mention the neighborhood I grew up in. The option to be able to come home from school, and escape the bullies and dramathat had become and everyday part of my life- was comforting. I didnt realize though, that this was starting to become a problem for me as well. I relied on Barbie as a crutch, and instead of facing my fears, I ignored them and let them fester inside me until I was nothing, but a ball of unexplainable fury. I wasnt using Barbie as an outlet, I was using her as a shield, and as I continued to do so, my self-esteem took a brutal beating in the process. Life was no longer a fairytale, and I realized that things werent going to come easy the way Barbies life always seemed to be. I let myself wonder, what was really under Barbies plastic smile? Did she have any cares in the world? I never had to see her persevere through anything. Sure she had goals, but she didnt make them come true they just fit her in place, and all of a sudden

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she was on the mountain top. If Ruth Handlers intentions were to inspire young girls to follow their dreams, then how come they never showed how to do so? Scientific studies, such as the Kohlbergs Cognitive-Developmental Theory, show that at a young age the objects you are associated with that stimulate your brain turn into a factor of the way you subconsciously think. For example, you get a Barbie when youre five and the doll helps stimulate your senses imagination and motor skills. Then when you are thirteen you automatically compare yourself to the doll in your subconscious. This allows for children to become more self-conscious, and can lead to serious disorders like bulimia, anorexia, and body dimorphic disorder. Barbies also a caused a major issue in gender confusion, and gender stability. In Kohlberg's Cognitive-Developmental Theory, it states that if a boy were to play with a female Barbie doll, at the age of three, he will not comprehend anything wrong from this. As the child slowly grows older he realizes that there are different attributes to the male and female gender. Asking questions such as; Can boys wear dresses? This brings up a potential issue. If the boy is told No then he will want to know why. This causes confusion, and the belief to growing up that boys should not like things that girls do. Men cannot like men romantically; Boys do not play with dolls, so on and so forth. American culture is already influenced by starving models, and beautiful celebrities, and also by the Barbie. The Barbie is a childs toy, with good intentions. However the

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principles that the doll initially stood for hasnt been implemented and has failed to meet previous expectations. Whether concerned over her perfect body, impossible opportunities, or false image the doll has inspired false hope and has stimulated the wrong ideas in our childs youth.

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Kaleidoscope Nation America has its own cultureRight? America is a mosaic; its made up of tiny fragments of other cultures. There is no base, and the glue that keeps these cultures together is the people. Every culture has its own food, music, religious views, home remedies, and ways of communicating. Can we finally get down to the bottom and separate the cultures to find what is truly American? America is not a culture. America is a casserole of many other cultures, people, and beliefs. Food, a whole universe in and of itself. A combination of flavors and emotions, all combined with a sense of culture. America has adopted almost every cultures food. The average person will think of hamburgers and hot dogs as all American food, but in fact hot dogs arent even American! Hot dogs were a copycat of European sausage. There happens to be a fast food chain for just about any craving. Long John Silvers for seafood, Taco Bell or Del Taco for Mexican, Panda Express for Asian food, KFC for Southern Comfort food, Weiner Schnitzel isnt even an original American, food. Not to mention all the various burger joints all across the country promising a fulfilling all American meal complete with a burger, fries, and a shake. The American music industry is contrived of many different sounds and styles. All of which are because of other cultures. For example, Hip Hop; one of the most popular genres in todays society owes its dues to the old Indian Bali and African tribal music. The various

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and jumbled beats made a rhythmic sound that has adopted the name Hip Hop. Jazz also owes its dues to African tribal music, and the French rhythms brought down to New Orleans, and Louisiana to create a creole symphony of percussion instruments and a jumble of horns to create a smooth melody with a raspy undertone that makes you want to get up and out of your seat and sway to the music. What we know as Reggae we owe to artists like Bob Marley, who inspired peace, and equality through relaxing beats with estranged sounds and haunting melodies. The sounds of tropical islands and Jamaican heritage linger in the songs as the lyrics tell a story of love and happiness. Most rock and indie artists exist because of British bands such as The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, ACDC, and Led Zeppelin. Lets not leave out the extreme impact Latin and Spanish music has made on America as a whole. With artists like Shakira, Selena, Jennifer Lopez, Prince Royce, Gloria Estefan, and Enrique Iglesias who have crossed over from their Latino sound to American Sound as well, and hit our pop scene huge. America is very religiously diverse because of our first amendment. Islam has traveled to America from Middle Eastern countries such as Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Liberia, and Tunisia and is now one of the majority religions in America. Islams cousin Judaism has also traveled from the Middle East starting in Israel and traveling to the United States slowly from Jewish immigrants. As far as Christianity and Catholicism, they have been a part of America for a while, but still were brought over by English colonists and Spanish Settlers and were established in the 1700s. Other religions such as Jehovah witness, Buddhism, Hinduism,

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Mormonism, Sikhism, and other religions were brought on later by Monks, former Christians, settlers from places such as India, Middle East, Europe, and Asia. Now America is full of all different ideas, beliefs, and opinions, and thats what makes our country so different and brilliant. Religion has also helped shape the way people communicate and establish social boundaries. Religions like Islam are heavy on Respect when greeting. For example it is disrespectful to look someone straight in the eye, and shake with the left hand. That is also closely related to some Asian cultures where a woman cannot look a man right in the eye, or it is a sign of infidelity. Languages are a big factor in communication. Spanish, English, French, Russian, Arabic, German, Italian, Japanese, Chinese, Hmong, Punjabi, Latin, Portuguese, Hebrew, the list goes on and on. All of these languages are what shape society today. Language in most societies today is an invisible line that divides many different ethnic groups. For example Spanish can form a group of Hispanics, consisting of Mexico, Puerto Rico, Cuba, Columbia, Ecuador, Nicaragua, and many other places also being added to the group of people from places that speak Portuguese; a cousin to Spanish. Italian and French are also a close relative to Spanish. Many words sounding the same as Spanish words with either the same or closely related definition. Other languages such as Arabic, Punjabi, or Hmong sound completely unrelated to even other languages that are a part of a country in close proximity to the country in which has adopted that language. These languages can

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heighten interest of another culture, and is what makes our society so diverse. What can be seen as a boundary for most is an open door for others. Lastly, every culture has their own home remedies. Hmong culture has a cure for menstrual cramps, made up of a special tree bark that is boiled down and made into a bitter, but soothing tea. In some other Asian cultures it is popular to eat a spicy helping of Wasabi sauce to clear the nasal passages and do a better job than Vicks vapor rub. In many Mexican cultures it is known to take a couple helpings of apple cider vinegar to relieve heartburn. Aloe Vera is a long time known remedy derived from South Africa, which is usually treated for irritated skin caused by rash or sun burn. America truly is a mosaic of culture. Beautiful to marvel at, and wonderful to think about. Just because America isnt defined by one race, religion, genre of music, food, or remedy doesnt mean that we are any less genuine. In fact we are the most unique country because of all our differences and opinions. The freedoms we have separate us in a way that brings us together as well. In the words of Brad Paisley, a true American; It's a French kiss. Italian ice. Margaritas in the moonlight. Just another American Saturday night.

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Guerrita Being known as the white girl, has always been my label, ever since I can remember. Growing up in a Chicano neighborhood always being the minority was kind of hard. But Ive become used to it, and like an animal adapts to its environment whether its climate change or a new diet, Ive learned to do so as well. Over time Ive learned that my community creates my culture. I was awkward. I went to a school at the east side part of town, and lived on the outskirts of town as well. The fact that I was a chubby, light skinned, blue eyed gringa, separated me from the groups at school. The majority being of Mexican heritage, they immediately saw me and automatically judged me thinking I was nothing, but a snooty little white girl from Brookside; supposedly the good area of my city. They also assumed I could not speak Spanish, and continued to talk about me behind my back. Little did they know that they were completely wrong! I was poor, down to earth, and had picked up quite a lot of Spanish ever since I was born. My best friend as a nia was a full blooded Mexican named Margarita. As if I should automatically fit in because of my friends anyway? Margaritas mom and my mom were very close. Although my mothers Spanish resembled what most would say a petty attempt at trying to make everything into a Spanish word using a lot of ito, -a, -as, and aron. That language barrier did not break them, it only

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made them stronger. They were both fairly young women, and shared the same struggles. They worked together every cherry season, and became family. Margarita would come play Super Nintendo, over at my house after school. We would usually have our afternoon snack which consisted of milk and cookies (Oreos my favorite). One day at my house I got out the Oreos. I left to get two glasses, and fill them with milk to bring back to the table. By the time I got back, Margarita was already dipping her Oreos in her halfway full glass of water. I remember being completely dumbfounded by this idea. Water? That sounded disgusting with the deliciousness milk could offer to a sweet treat such as my beloved Oreo. At a young age such as six, this kind of thing is like wondering why the sky was blue. Nearly impossible to figure out. Yet instead of making her feel bad by continuing to stare at her with my mouth gaped open, I joined in, and before I knew it, the concept wasnt so strange after all. Margarita explained to me that in her family they didnt waste milk with cookies, but instead saved it to put in food, and help cook. That same day I had my first churro, and glass of horchata. A churro is a fried piece of bread usually stretched and braided and rolled in cinnamon. Horchata is rice milk, usually with ice, and cinnamon. It was amazing, and the nearest experience to culture shock Ive ever had. Our day of Oreos and water had turned into a cinnamon fiesta and I was exhilarated! A little hyper from the sugar rush, yet ecstatic all the same.

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From then on I started to eating more and more at their house. This meant never coming home with an empty stomach! Her mother always made enough food for a dozen grown men. Learning my colors in Spanish was easier to pick up if there was food involved. Enchiladas rojos y verdes, maz de amarillo y blanco, y frijoles negros. The table was always full of color when dinner time rolled around. For breakfast huevos con chile y tortillas de harina. Mostly every meal had a side of frijoles, beans. My first Tamale was an experience. It was the December 23rd, and Margarita, her mother, and her little brother cam over. They brought with them a huge laundry basket. I was confused; I did not understand what was going on. Did they want us to do their laundry or something? Then I caught the delicious fresh scent of Marias homemade tortillas! I knew what was in the basket, the usual, a feast. We asked if they could join, but they declined saying that it was all they could offer as a present and they wanted us to enjoy it, just the two of us. We thanked them, and as they left we opened the towel that was laid on top of the basket. Tamales, tortillas, frijoles, arroz, y dulces de leches. Feliz Navidad became an expression of true selflessness after that. We were touched by the gesture and happily dug in. Unaware of what exactly to do, I picked up a tamale and bit in as if it were a burrito. That was a mistake. The heat seared my tongue. I spit out the mouthful of corn husk, pork, and sauce onto the table. My eyes watered, and I watched as my mom doubled over with hysterics at the sight of her daughter completely failing at trying to eat tamale. I was mad then, but now I

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can see that it was truly one of my shining moments. Shining as in, embarrassing, horrific, and excruciatingly painful to remember. I was always referred to as mija Blanca, or guerrita, and even sometimes pobrecita depending on the occasion. I started to repeat these words, along with the ones I had learned at Margaritas house, and put them into action. The effect was respect! I would gain more attention, but I had to be thorough if I really wanted to be treated as an equal, and not like a desperate poser looking for false acceptance. Along with the progress I was making, there were still those who not convinced. It seemed as if I went to school completely alone, except for the bus ride with Margarita who happened to go to a Spanish speaking class, to coming home and automatically feeling accepted. As soon as school started I was the loner again. I anticipated the moment the bell rang to see my mujer amiga, and go home to a less intimidating place. So once again, I was picked last in dodge ball, excluded from tetherball, and ignored by all. The same day I was accidentally, knocked to the ground and called a gringa was the same day I stuck up for myself. I got up and simply said Estpido! Cabeza Grande! It was something Margarita used to call her little brother when he ticked her off. I was so mad I wanted them to be mad too, but all they did was smirk and walk away as if it didnt mean anything that I had just put my foot down. Later I noticed that that was them putting up the white flag.

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From then on my little title Guerrita, wasnt such a burden anymore. I realize now that I am older and more mature that its not such a bad thing to be different, even when standing alone can hurt at times, it only makes you stronger. You dont have to pretend to be anything to impress anyone or try to fit in. If there is not already a place for you then make a place for yourself. It really doesnt matter what color you are, or what language you speak. Whether you eat your Oreos with or without milk. I may not have a highly defined culture. Maybe my culture is in Limbo, and doesnt need to be defined. Maybe my culture changes as time progresses and my environment changes as well. Whether or not this be true, I do know one thing for certain. My community did shape who I am today. It formed every taste bud for the flavor of life, created every moral I live by, made me appreciate everything just a bit more. Thats not the kind of thing youre born with. Thats something you claim and adapt to.

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Rising From the Ashes When you are little, the differences between right and wrong are insignificant. The line between the two, thin and blurred. And like most small children it is not a big deal as to whether or not you break the rules. Most likely because the biggest crime they have ever committed was stealing the last cookie out of the cookie jar. As you grow older these differences are more distinct. Your background and culture are what defines to everyone what is right and what is wrong, and whether or not you feel remorse. Most of my problems as a toddler consisted of being selfish, throwing fits, and repeating profane language. This was something I picked up from my surroundings. I heard my mom or stepdad curse, and like music it flew right back out my own juvenile mouth. I was never one to ask for something. I absolutely loathed the idea of putting myself out there to possibly be rejected or denied, not only physical objects but affection as well. My mom was

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caring and loved me to pieces, but her priorities were askew. If it wasnt me, my older brother, then it was my stepdad (although they never tied the knot). I longed for the time that mom would sit down, and decide to play Barbies with me or invest a couple hours towards arts and crafts. It was just my mom, me, and my stepdad. My brother lived with my grandma, and life got lonely. We lived in a secluded area, not enough kids to play with, and not enough time in the day. So to escape reality I turned to my three loves. Reading, playing Barbies, and music. It was an escape, a necessity to be able to hide in the confines of my own little world for an hour or so and be peaceful. We were poor and we were on food stamps and welfare. My clothes were never in the style. As other little girls ran around in their cute little zip up hoodies, and light up shoes I craved to be able to prance about as such and feel that I fit in. I also wasnt athletic. Never was on the jungle gym, too afraid of heights. I sat in the shade of the trees and kept to myself. This left me plenty of time to develop a charismatic personality. Thats the reason I am the way I am today. It didnt take me long to realize that if I wanted friends, I had to earn them. By the time I hit the double digits I was known as the bubbly, outspoken, tall, and chunky little girl. I sang and everyone knew it. I wasnt afraid anymore of being rejected because I realized being invisible and ignored was worse than putting yourself out there and either being loved or hated. As my social life started to develop so did my home life. I was done with my

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mothers rejection, and through with the day and night of listening to petty disputes through paper thin walls. It was just too tiring. I started to speak up for myself, when my mother was bitter, I asked why, I didnt leave until I received an answer. She owed me that much, right? My mom took this newfound confidence and set it aside as a mixture of puberty, and preteen rebellion. Its not like I wanted to fight with her. I just wanted a relationship, with substance. By the time I was twelve our relationship decreased like the stock market during The Great Depression. I wanted to dress more maturely, yet my mom took it as trying to be a, and I quote, hoochie. I didnt understand. What was her problem? She was lucky to have a daughter like me! Straight As. Always principals list. I was a published author, well rounded, and had a talent, aspirations, and determination. I did not give in to peer pressure like the rest of the kids on my block, not because I didnt want to let my parents down. I realized that I was no longer doing things for them; I was doing them for myself. I determined right from wrong for myself. When my mom tried to do so, I knew it wouldnt be long before I found out that the she didnt practice what she preached. Hats why I made the decision to leave and move in with my dad. I wanted to make something of myself and escape the ashes of Stockton. Live a life of success; make a name for myself that I can be proud of. Be an independent individual who could conquer anything, and that did not involve getting addicted to drugs, alcohol, or

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becoming a mom at fifteen. This also did not include living with a parent who could care less, or show affection and support. I have come to realize that your background and environment are a huge majority of your culture. With this I have also learned that your culture does not define you are. It simply helps to organize your views and opinions of right and wrong. Based on my own experiences struggling with; family issues, peer pressure, weight struggles, and the Stockton way of life, I have come to realize that in the end these are experiences I would never subject anyone else to yet experience I am grateful for. I am grateful for the chance to have lived throughout that and learned from it at an early age and the chance to escape and use my knowledge, passion, and endurance to persevere through any obstacle. I can only hope that those experiences will be enough incentive to last me throughout my whole life. It is not where you come from that defines you. Its where youre going.