Winter Solstice has arrived, and some believe it is an excellent time to begin their observance. Some wait to start their journey twelve days after the start of Winter Solstice, so they know precisely the time they have devoted. However, many will wait for the new full moon as they take the pilgrimage all at once and prefer not to arrive when the masses are there.

The members here choose to walk individually or in pairs. There are times they come in groups. Men, women, even children who are brought in by their guardians, young and old have decided to go to this chosen temple. Some come heavily clothed in their costumes and others sparingly. A few have pledged in knowing they are dedicating themselves for self-enlightenment while others were ordered to participate.

Those who have been ordered were given precise instructions to expel the very evil their bodies have stored so they may be granted a longer life. The families of the condemned beg them to accept the opportunity and take on the challenge as grueling as it may be. With resistance, they arrive knowing they are obeying the healer yet are afraid for what awaits them. They enter to inform the gatekeeper they have come. They are confirmed as tribal members and allowed to proceed. Those who are not will be sent away, but not before attempts are made to persuade them to join the pack.

The tribesmen are afraid, hearing the moaning and cries from those that have arrived before the sun could rise. With fear in their eyes and heart racing, they enter the room where they may begin to shed the excess garb, placing them in a secure container to not tempt a pilferer. With sunrays of man blaring above them, a quick reflection, confirms this cleansing must be done.

They walk out bravely to enter the room of torment. When all of a sudden an advisor dressed in a distinctive attire noting his role, approaches them to offer his knowledge in expelling these demons. Reluctantly, they accept the teaching as this new ritual could not be done alone. The advisor asks what demons haunt them so he may create methods of unique cleansing. Some begin their descriptions of the demons that are within them; a beast with a waxy type appearance which is causing him a heavy heart; one demon is causing fatigue, and a delusion of sweets, but it is no delight. A tribesman says in despair, he feels he is carrying what feels like three.

The advisor escorts his first victim to a device. Telling him how to begin expelling the demons with all of his might. The victim feels weary as he uses all of his strength to carry on, pushing, lifting and calling out to God. The advisor yells not to give up as there is a reason for this fight. The fight for his very own life! They are willing to submit themselves to being chased by spirits unseen. The advisor encourages them to follow the method for four new moons to ensure a person can begin to see some demons are being cast-off. He reminds them that not all demons can be seen by the eye and to return their healer so he may take a look deeper inside.

Those for self-enrichment will occasionally approach a new tribesman to encourage them. One who has been faithful demonstrates their freedom from their demons and shares some potions they have used on their own. Another follower instructs for faster purification they should begin to fast. The new tribesman feels overwhelmed especially when he realizes he has to return.

Upon arriving home the tribesman is greeted by his family with a weary body from his new internal and external battle. He has apprehension about returning to the temple again. He knows what the healer said about his life and the consequences if he did not obey. His young daughter smiled and told him how proud she is of his accomplishments. For this little reason, he’ll be going back to the gym.

I was watching I love Lucy’s Vitameatavegamin clip (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KY3eOtJwOhEon) on YouTube and laughing hysterically. My daughter walks into the room and asked what I found so amusing. I told her I was watching the clip for non-nonverbal communications. She proceeds to tell me Lucy is clearly talking. I asked her to wait for Lucy’s expression as she tastes the Vitameatavegmin syrup. We both laughed uncontrollably as here reactions were hilarious. No matter how hard Lucy tries to tolerate the taste, her facial expressions and body language said the taste was an unpleasant one. The Sounds of Silence(H, p.111-113) describes how eye contact, touch, gestures, facial expressions, physical space, and posture all play a role in nonverbal communication as well how it can vary from culture to culture.

In 2000, we went to visit my paternal grandmother in a small town in Michoacan, Mexico (https://www.britannica.com/place/Michoacan).
My grandmother stood a mere 4 foot 10 inches and spoke no English. My husband stands at 6 foot 2 inches and speaks no Spanish. When she met my husband for the first she rambled on in Spanish about him as she approached him. My husband did not understand a word she was saying but knew he made a good first impression. She smiled and reached her hands out towards him, gesturing she wanted him to come down to her level. He bent down towards her, she grabbed his face with both hands to bring him closer so she could kiss his cheek and give him a hug. Gestures helped them communicate even when there was a language barrier.

After dinner on the first night, it was a tradition to go down to the plaza, the town’s center. There everyone would gather after dinner to have a drink, a dessert or just have a moment to catch up with family and neighbors, after the day’s hustle and bustle. As my husband and I walked hand in hand towards the plaza, we grabbed quite a bit of attention. The women’s mouths would drop or they’d do a double take to look at him as if their eyes had fooled them. There was a Gringo in their town. Gringo another way to describe an American (https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/gringo). The men, on the other hand, either nodded at us or looked at him with stares that could pierce a soul. As we made our way down, we greeted everyone with direct eye contact, a nod of the head and a “Buenas Tardes” (Translation: Good Afternoon). The greeting typically broke the stares and the tension when they would hear my husband say it with an American accent. It was out of respect to acknowledge one another with direct eye contact and a nod. The verbal communication was a small gesture to demonstrate we both knew the customs and respected the tradition.

I found I would be the opposite at work during business meetings and did not pay attention to my own demeanor. I had a week-long corporate meeting. At one of our dinners, I intentionally chose a group of new employees to have dinner with. As I approached the table I asked if I could join them. I introduced myself by giving my name as I reached out to shake everyone’s hand before I sat down. The men would stand up when accepting my hand to shake it, while the ladies remained seated with their hands extended towards me. As the night progressed we found ourselves getting to know one another on a personal level. One woman, whom I had just met openly admitted she had concerns about me. When I asked her why she began with an apology because she thought I looked mean. In plain English, I had a Resting Bitch Face to her, according to Urban Dictionary, it is a person, usually a girl, who naturally looks mean when her face is expressionless, without meaning to (https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=resting%20bitch%20face).

One man’s eyes rapidly had a look of shock, two women gasped as they pulled back from the table, a man shook his head and another just turned his head as if he had hoped he hadn’t heard what was said. Clearly, she felt comfortable enough to share her feelings with me. I giggled because her statement was an unexpected one. I recall I lifted my eyebrows, demonstrating a sense of curiosity and asked her why she felt that way before even meeting me. Everyone around us was fidgeting in their seats, readjusting their bottoms in their seats, uncrossing legs, as if seeking an opportunity to run out of the room. She stated I walked into every meeting throughout the week with authority. Shoulders back, face forward and marched in every room with a purpose. I then apologized to her because I clearly was unaware of how I was carrying myself. “Everyone tries to adjust the space around himself in a way that’s comfortable for him: most often, he does this unconsciously (Hall, p113)”. She apologized again saying her first impression was clearly wrong and we were having a great time together. Everyone at the table began to demonstrate a sense of relief when they noticed I was not offended by the remarks. One by one they began to lean back to the center of the round table to engage once again into a group conversation. From that point on I kept her opinion in the forefront and slowed my pace to give everyone some type of acknowledgment, either direct eye contact, nod, and or a smile.

When it comes to touching my family is notorious for shoving, slapping or pushing each other when we talked. I had to be aware of this behavior when I was not with my siblings or cousins. Now my husband was raised where touching wasn’t used for general conversation. Cultures play a huge factor in nonverbal communication. So is touching appropriate or not when greeting or conversating? Opodo shared just a few different ways how greeting a person is done around the world. Americans could define sticking out your tongue at someone as either as playful bantering or just plain rude. Tibetan monks will stick their tongues out to greet. In Kenya, the tribe of Maasai warriors performs a jumping dance, and in Botswana, there is a specific handshake (https://www.opodo.co.uk/blog/greetings-around-the-world/).

No one can possibly know how everyone would perceive a gesture in every culture. It is important to keep a state of awareness to ensure others are not offended.

This reading had my thoughts racing immediately to the DreamWorks, 2006 Animation movie “Over the Hedge” in the scene where RJ (Bruce Willis) the raccoon describes humans love for food (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O593iJ3WiZg). Food may be the common theme throughout the world as a need for human consumption to survive, but food can also have other meanings as well.

I am a Chicana, which means I am the first generation of my Mexican family to be born in the United States. I have been raised on traditional Mexican food always prepared by my mother in an African-American neighborhood, southside Stockton to be precise. We were one of the few Mexican families to move into a predominantly black neighborhood. My brothers and I found ourselves exchanging food with our friends. They’d introduce us to crawdad tails fried in cornmeal, spam in sandwiches or fried with eggs, collard greens with ham hocks, cornbread, and we’d provide them with our bean burritos with homemade flour tortillas or tacos. The exchange started innocently enough because we found ourselves, at times bored with the same food. This also allowed us, without realizing it, to build a bond with one another (https://www.miamiherald.com/living/health-fitness/chew-on-this/article91828957.html ). The preparation of food was never an interest to me as I grew up, so I never hovered over my mother to see how she cooked my favorite dishes. However, as I became an adult, I yearned to whip up those same recipes mom did to share with my own family and now with my grandchildren.

Why does food have such an impact on us? I provided a mass text to my adult, adoptive children and friends I was going to hold a dinner at my house with homemade carnitas for tortas and Chile Verde with all of the fixings. I had stressed to my friend, Nathan, who I call son, I was also going to make my beans with ham hocks dish. It is pinto beans cooked with ham hocks, green onions, and jalapenos, a combination of Mexican and soul food. I did this because I knew he would make time to join us. My girlfriend asked me once, why I would hold such large dinners with forty people? First off, they are or like family and it was a way I could bring them all home. It was a tradition on Sundays our family would attend church together, then have a meal after services before starting a busy week all over again. A sense of family appreciation and keeping the family bonds strong when we came together is even supported by Stanford’s Children’s Health (https://www.stanfordchildrens.org/en/topic/default?id=why-the-family-meal-is-important-1-701).

When Nathan arrived, he rushed to the pot of beans in the kitchen, he had craved for years, but couldn’t find time to come over. He sat down, as soon as he began to eat, his immediate response “Man, Mama! This takes me back to Southside days. Dear God! They are so good!” I remembered in 2004, I did a speech at San Joaquin Delta College on how our sense of taste and smell triggers memories (https://harvardpress.typepad.com/hup_publicity/2012/05/food-and-memory-john-allen.html). I can’t pass by a hot grill that smells of flour lightly scorched on it without being reminded of my mother making homemade flour tortillas. My heart fills with the thought of her standing over the stove, gently laying each one on top of the hot grill to make a dozen within minutes.

Experiencing a new food could also create a memory and build bonds. We took a road trip with four of our five grandchildren last Summer. Their ages were ten, nine and two seven-year-olds. Our youngest was only a year old at the time. We took the trek up to Yellowstone National Park (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yellowstone_National_Park) and spent the day there taking in the sights. We decided we would grab a bite to eat outside of the park because every food venue there was filled with tourists from around the world. It took us nearly three hours to cross the park because of the sixty-mile width, migrating Bison holding up traffic, and tourists abruptly stopping to see the bears. We were starving when we finally arrived at a restaurant just outside the park on the Wyoming side. My husband, grandchildren, and I were relieved when we sat down to review the menu. I noticed they offered Rocky Mountain Oysters. I asked my grandchildren would they be interested in trying them? Our nine-year-old grandson immediately responded, he enjoys oysters and has had them before. We had to tell him these were not your typical oysters. My husband and I took some time to explain what they were (https://www.thrillist.com/eat/nation/11-things-you-didn-t-know-about-rocky-mountain-oysters) to receive chuckles or faces of disgust. My husband insisted we all try them since none of us had. They brought two platters of these deep-fried testicles. They appeared as flat chicken nuggets, golden, and deep-fried. Our ten-year-old grandson was apprehensive with the mere thought. I encouraged him to cut his into pieces but when he did he grabbed one that had quite a bit of cartilage, which would have made it difficult to chew. I gave him another piece to cut up. My husband said he would do a count down and we would eat our pieces simultaneously. The countdown ended and we began to eat. Some slowers than others, some with giggles and some with great interest. Out of the blue, my youngest and loudest granddaughter blares out with her high pitch voice, “They taste like chicken!” We all couldn’t hold back the laughs. To this day, we reminisce about the experience, something we shared with our grandchildren which not only remains etched in our hearts but also in theirs.

My husband’s ethnicity is Polish, Swedish, German, Slavian to name a few. We both find it entertaining when people meet us as a couple. It appeared my Mexican brethren are taken back I am married to this “Gringo” and not a Mexican man, which I briefly was at one point. They proceed to ask out of curiosity, what food do I cook at home for him and my family? When I tell them I cook Mexican food, American, Italian, Filipino, Polish cabbage rolls, Soul, Chinese food, to name a few because I enjoy cooking for my family. It never fails when they point out I am Mexican as if that is the only thing I should be preparing, yet fail to remember I am a native Californian. I love to eat and I enjoy trying food from every culture. Maybe it was because it initially started when we were kids in our neighborhood. Besides, it is much cheaper to cook at home than it is to eat out (https://kingofkash.com/blog/cost-cooking-meals-vs-eating/) at least that it was I taught even in my high school home economics class and from my parents.

I also know when I prepare a meal that I am using fresh items with no preservatives or pesticides since I grow the majority of my own produce in my backyard garden. Any garden scraps are returned to my garden to continue to create rich compost (https://www.epa.gov/recycle/composting-home). This in turns keeps less out of landfills because it is repurposed leaving less of a carbon footprint. Many of the vegetables can be regrown such onions, celery, and carrots (https://www.icreativeideas.com/13-vegetables-that-you-can-regrow-again-and-again/). It saves me money from purchasing additional plants and seeds to regrow annually.

In regards to food noted as a woman’s issue, I will say I disagree with it in this reading (JCB.,pg39). There are so many reputable chefs who are men today. Gordon Ramsay, Bobby Flay, Marcus Samuelsson, Alton Brown, Emeril Lagasse, Wolfgang Puck, and even local legend Guy Fieri, who resides in Santa Rosa, California. I taught my son how to cook as well as doing all domesticated duties. My father instilled in me, “There is no such thing as a man’s job or woman’s job! There is simply work to be done!” The irony here was when I grew up I only saw my mother preparing all the food. However, recently, I received a call from my mother and brother informing me my father had prepared dinner for my mother when she had fallen ill. I was self-absorbed initially pointing out I could have helped out by cooking for my parents. Forgetting my brother can cook too. Then I realized, MY FATHER PREPARED A MEAL?! My mother handed him the phone, and I proceeded to ask him, when did he learn how to cook? He said he had known all along and reminded me as a single migrant worker he had to. He said he was the lead chef for himself and comrades. I asked him, why I never saw him cook while we were growing up. He simply responded saying, “I was never asked to.” The gnawing reminder of ASSUming, LOL!

In reading Miner’s article “Body Ritual Among the Nacirema.” I was attracted to all of the familiarities of this culture, which is called Ethnocentric. According to Bing, ethnocentric defined is evaluating other peoples and cultures according to the standards of one’s own culture (https://www.bing.com/search?q=ethnocentric&form=IENTNB&mkt=en-us&httpsmsn=1&refig=58e7f4aada0f4718a214f243385181d9&sp=2&ghc=1&qs=LS&pq=ethno&sk=LS1&sc=8-5&cvid=58e7f4aada0f4718a214f243385181d9). He states this tribe is between Canada and Mexico. It clearly means America. At closer examination, I realized Nacirema is American spelled in reverse! Miner was describing American culture and how he can change our perception of our own culture by using symbolism. He described some “norms” (JCB, pg.164: Often informal, but widely known and accepted ways of doing things within a particular culture) of American culture such as bathroom rituals, dentist, physicians and how they play a role in our lives.

He stated each family’s home as having a “shrine” at least one and the rich having two. It hit me they were referring to bathrooms. The shrine that helps “rid the body of disease” with the use of rituals; bathing and expelling the body of it with bathroom use. We have six children in our family and I can honestly say it’s a sacred room, they used first thing in the morning, in private and in secret. It was definitely a luxury to have more than one bathroom with so many members in our household. The mad dash to not only use the bathroom but to be the first. To begin their ritual of grooming, before the siblings pushed them out of there, was always a sense of victory on its own. Being the first one to occupy it, could essentially mean having more time for their solemn rite. They state the ritual is only “shared with the children at a time when they are being initiated into these mysteries.” We know it as potty training and this is why he described it is being shared only with children. Baby Center, states the best age to begin potty training is between two and threes of age, with an expectation that boys would take a little more time but no longer than the age of 3 or 4 (https://www.babycenter.com/0_developmental-milestone-toilet-training-age-2_63952.bc).

He described dentist as the “holy-mouth-men” conducting reviews of the tribe members mouths, who use primitive instruments, and even though a member does not see any concern in their mouths, they seek out their assistance. The American Dental Association recommends it; patients seek out assistance twice a year because not all dental concerns can be seen by the naked eye(https://www.mouthhealthy.org/en/dental-care-concerns/questions-about-going-to-the-dentist). He illustrates how tribe members use hog hairs and a magical powder thrusting about in a series of motions in their mouth, which is, the use of a toothbrush and toothpaste to keep our teeth and mouth healthy. This act also would attract friends according to Horace and has grown of great importance in our culture today. According to Cision PR Newswire, the teeth whitening industry is forecasted to reach by 2024 a market worth of 7.4 Billion U.S. dollars (https://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/teeth-whitening-products-market-size-worth-usd-740-billion-by-2024-hexa-research-645998863.html).

His description of a medicine cabinet was a “focal point of a box” in the shrine many charms and potions are placed into. These items are prescribed by a doctor who is called the “medicine man”. He writes that so many of these charms and magical potions are prescribed, people forget what their purpose are. I read an article by CHY Yang, 2015 (http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=11&ved=2ahUKEwjzzIv51ZbgAhXQmq0KHamACGQQFjAKegQIBBAC&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.mdpi.com%2F2226-4787%2F3%2F3%2F79%2Fpdf&usg=AOvVaw0LKMSJuIF3i8VatMNTu3Gy) in a take-back medication event, over 3,600 bottles were received for proper disposal. The majority of these medications returned were due to over-prescribing, expired dates, and many simply stopped taking them. These medications are to assist us in our daily life in hopes of not only extending our life span, but to also provide a better quality of life. Even though many of these prescriptions come with so many side-effects, including death, we still place our trust in our physicians and take them without questioning. Now these medicine men will not assist nor treat you unless they are substantially compensated. According to Bill Fay (https://www.debt.org/medical/doctor-visit-costs/) “In 2011, in America, the average charge for an office visit for an established patient, level 3, requiring approximately 15 minutes with a doctor, was $104. The average total paid was $69.”

The so-called “curative potions” are concocted by our pharmacists “herbalist”, with the physicians making note of the needed potion on a prescription “in an ancient and secret language.” The handwriting can be difficult to read from a physician, but there are several variables as to why one may consider it as unclear. According to Reader’s Digest, physicians find themselves seeing several patients in a day that their hands are exhausted from writing prescriptions in a haste to be able to see the next patient. Another physician stated it was one way to discreetly cover a misspelling by a physician (https://www.rd.com/health/healthcare/doctors-have-bad-handwriting/) since there are so many medical terms to remember.

His story returns to the shrine room where he narrates how each member of the family uses this “Holy Water” for bathing. The water that is used comes from what he calls “community’s water temple” which in reality is from the Community Water Treatment plant that isn’t blessed but purified through a process (https://www.cdc.gov/healthywater/drinking/public/water_treatment.html).

The use of analogy as primitive ways to represent our American daily life goes on throughout his story. It was an excellent representation of how an individual, when lead to believe they are about to embark on a new culture, will seek out just that.

I was fourteen years old and I received my first paycheck. While others were making around $3.50 in 1983 (https://www.dir.ca.gov/iwc/MinimumWageHistory.htm), I was proudly earning $5.50 as a waitress. I made more money on tips then I made on my hourly wages. I remember friends from school bragging about a new pizza restaurant that opened at our Weberstown Mall. People were excited to have tried this New York deep pan pizza. I didn’t need to purchase any clothes, thanks to my parents providing those for me. My heart was set on trying this new style pizza at the mall where everyone would hang out! I decided I wanted to share this experience with my siblings. It was empowering to know I could make my own decision on what to do with my money.

We went into the mall to seek out this restaurant. It was nice to be part of the group of kids, who went to the mall frequently. To see me at the mall was a rare sighting because I had a father who was extremely strict when it came to his eldest daughter. Now I was part of this group of kids, who could go back to school on Monday, and also say I was at the mall. We grew up in the Southside of Stockton, and the mall would have been considered not only as the teenage hangout, but also the place everyone could be equals. Noone was from any side of town. That was the melting pot for Stockton teenagers. To see friends and meet new people, of course, while shopping and eating.

When we found the restaurant, we walked in and knew we were in the right spot. It had families and groups of teenagers. So I placed the order, asking for their deep pan New York style pizza with all of the fixings and a large pitcher of soda for us to share. When the pizza arrived, it appeared to be at least 2 inches thick! The crust was thick, yet moist and we found ourselves, my sister and I at least, using forks to tear into it for our first bite. My brothers didn’t mind using their hands. We weren’t having our traditional Eddie’s pizza. We were sharing a new experience. When we left I had to give our server a nice sized tip because I knew the demands. It added to my sense of accomplishment and empowerment that I was giving back. I had to order an additional one to take home to my parents so they could share in the enjoyment as well. It was also a sense of validation we were there because we had to walk around the mall, while we waited for our parents to pick us up, with a box noting the name of the pizza we just purchased. When we ran into friends, they’d seen we had been there and state they heard all about it. They asked us our opinions. Now we had a say.

The thrill of being able to be part of our peer’s activities, sharing a new experience was worth every penny I spent. When our parents arrived, we told them we had purchased them one. They appreciated we took them into account and wanted to share it with them as well. One thing we did agree upon as a family is, it was nice to experience something new, but there wasn’t anything like Eddie’s pizza! The familiar seems to be the most comfortable. Of course, that isn’t anything I would share with my classmates at school on Monday.

Mills (The Promise, 2017) immediately states, “Men often feel that their private lives are a series of traps.” This chapter resonated with me and the sense of my troubles. Mills defined Troubles, as which occur within the character of the individual and the range of his immediate relations with others. Issues, he describes as having to do with matters that transcend these local environments of the individual and the effect of his inner life (structural issues-society). He notes three questions that one asks: 1) How does society affect us? 2) What impact do we have on society? 3) Where do we lie in society? I will address two of the three because I am not quite sure at this time, how my situation affects society.

In 2014, I was hurt at work. I had an image that I would receive treatment and I would be able to return to work without delay. Instead, I found myself in a cycle of bureaucratic red tape! In 2012, which I was not aware of, the CA State Senate Bill 863 was signed into law by Governor Brown “Worker’s Compensation reform. Reforms of 2012. Senate Bill 863. https://www.dir.ca.gov/chswc/WCReformsPage1.htm).” Senate Bill 863 took effect on January 1, 2013. In an article, “How Senate Bill 863 Will Affect Your Practice.” (https://cjattorneys.com/how-senate-bill-863-will-affect-your-practice). It points out how these changes have now benefited the insurers as they are the ones who make the Utilization Review and its purpose of controlling costs. It does not necessarily mean the patient, such as myself, will obtain adequate and timely care. To add insult to injury, I know I am too young to retire, according to the Social Security Administration as the retirement age is now 67 (https://www.sa.gov/planners/). It’s how I can apply Mills, Issues, to my state of how my structural state has affected myself and so many injured workers since 2013. I lost my job because I did not return within my employers time frame, yet I could not obtain the appropriate care to allow me to return to work.

Initially, I was feeling the roller coaster of emotions. The physical pain from the accident. The feeling of being ignored by a system I could not control. Then I accepted this scenario of waiting for approvals for medical treatments. Then the creation of self-affliction of depression because I was not feeling productive for my family and myself (https://www.verywellhealth.com./depression-and-chronic-pain-256443). My quality of life, I felt was depleted. I could no longer be the active grandmother that would jump on the trampoline with my grandchildren, literally run after or with them, or carry them on my shoulders. I was no longer providing an income after a time frame set by Workman’s Comp. I was struggling with keeping up with my basic household chores. Then when I received opioids to address my pain, I began to build a tolerance. They did not work unless I increased my dose after using for them for a few years. Opioid tolerance defined as a decrease in pharmacologic response following repeated or prolonged drug use (https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2628209/). I found myself questioning my purpose in life. What was I expected to do now? The troubles I created upon myself as I was not pressured by anyone to return to work. I was consumed with my beliefs, being raised with my father encouraging me to obtain an education so I may not ever be so dependent on anyone that I could not provide for myself. My husband without a doubt would always provide for me, but I also know his medical concerns. I was having a whirlwind of thoughts. I sought out a girlfriend to vent. We went to lunch to discuss all of these thoughts. She had to break my sense of somber with some bantering by suggesting I could perhaps be going through a midlife crisis. British dictionary defines it as “A crisis that may be experienced in middle age involving frustration, panic, and feelings of pointlessness, sometimes resulting in radical and often ill-advised changes of lifestyle (https://www.dictionary.com/browse/midlife-crisis).” Well, I did not make a radical nor ill-advised change to my lifestyle. Instead, I have decided to return to school, to seek out a new career. (https://www.nbcnews.com/business/business-news/back-school-older-students-rise-college-classrooms-n191246)

C. Wright Mills defined sociological imagination as “the awareness of the relationship between personal experience and the wider society” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sociological_imagination). Clearly, my beliefs and that structure I was placed in have collided. I cannot say I could change my beliefs but I know for certain I will not allow a government system to define or keep me in its grasps.

According to Berger (2017), “nothing is too sacred or profane to be spared the sociologist’s scrutiny.” Not realizing I have in one way or another have been intrigued by my fellow human beings. It always began with my desire to help them by empowering them, but it also fascinated me how a group, which was in a class of its own, are all uniquely different. Berger continues to state, regardless of the results one should approach the viewing of a person with an open mind and keep personal beliefs at bay while doing so. One who is interested should not only explore with an open mind but also with a sense of wanting to seek out answers, to view things in a way which haven’t been considered. Berger stresses a sociologist’s need for knowledge will go without prejudice or reservation.

It reminded me of my time when I applied for a case management position in 1997, at a community, non-profit clinic, which led me to believe I would have some HIV/AIDS positive patients. However, after working there a few days, I realized all of my patients were HIV/AIDS positive. I remember one friend telling me that I should quit when I shared with her they were all positive patients. The curiosity of this group had me intrigued. What made them different from me or anyone else, spiritually, physically and financially? Rather than exhibiting a sense of fear, as she demonstrated, I went in with the desire of helping my fellow human being.

I remember how the AIDS epidemic began to spread fear, not only in my immediate community but throughout the world! It was nearly on the radio or the news nightly in the 80s and growing more of a concern in the 90s “HIV and AIDS Infection in the 1990s (https://www.annualreviews.org/doi/pdf/10.1146/annurev.pu.11.050190.001015.)” This epidemic grabbed my attention in June 1992, when I heard the term repeatedly, “GRID- Gay Related Immune Deficiency (https://www.avert.org/professionals/history-hiv-aids/overview).” I found myself, simply five years later, seeing the statistics of patients being half heterosexual and the other half being gay. They were of every race, both males and females, and of every age group! My youngest patient was a 17-year-old female who was pregnant, and my oldest patient was a 64-year-old male, who had a blood transfusion some twenty years earlier. I had less than a dozen patients on my caseload, and we required a minimum of 55 to meet our grant requirements (https://hab.hrsa.gov/about-ryan-white-hivaids-program). I was honored to be part of a clinic that would not only offer treatment for patients who typically found themselves at a county hospital’s, infectious disease department. Instead, they would receive HIV/AIDS treatment, as well as primary care services in a setting with other routine patients (http://www.communitymedicalcenters.org/Services/HIV-Early-Intervention-Program). I began to read the first three files on my caseload and immediately found myself disregarding the old case manager’s notes. The few notes that were there, to me, were opinion-based and futile to my objective of beginning with fresh eyes. “(Berger 2017) The fascination of sociology lies in the fact that its perspective makes us see in a new light the very world in which we have lived all our lives.”

One by one, I reached out to each patient via the telephone, to not only introduce myself but to ask if we could meet at my office or could I at least have their permission to attend their follow-up appointment. The next step was to seek out additional patients. I did the typical community health and informational fairs but knew if I wanted to find my patients, I had to go where potential patients would be. I went to different sites that would allow me to offer HIV testing and or information on our program services as a whole. To name a few places, I went to homeless shelters, drug & alcohol programs, gay clubs, parolee re-entry meetings, and social events to introduce myself. My upbringing taught me that trust is earned and not given, but also not to judge, even as a Catholic, many Christians seem to forget the scripture, John 3:17 GNT “For God did not send his Son into the world to judge, but to be its savior.” So with that mindset that it wasn’t my place to judge, I ventured off into communities of unfamiliarity. It became an on-going joke at the gay club when I walked in with my husband from some of the regular patrons, “Oh Lord! Here come the straights!” My reputation grew not only due to my eagerness to help others, but also because I was willing to advocate for them as individuals whether it be to obtain financial, medical or emotional support. I was known for the hugs I’d give and the one willing to have a cup of coffee at their homes as we chatted like old friends. The majority of my patients were looking for relationships with people who’d accept them for who they continued to be and not judged by this disease everyone was afraid of (http://psychology.ucdavis.edu/rainbow/html/aids_stigma_paper.html).

I found myself embracing a population that otherwise would be shunned by an entire community. It was intriguing to hear how many got the HIV/AIDS virus: through IV drug use, blood transfusion, unprotected sex (both heterosexual or gay), use of tattoo/ piercing needles and or ink that were not sanitized to name a few. It still demonstrated to me how each experience was unique as they were as individuals. These courageous men and women chose to fight literally for their lives! We enjoyed how our initial meeting started with tears which transition into a relationship filled with laughter, hope, and life! I can attest as Berger (2017) summarized it, “An introduction to sociology is, therefore, an invitation to a very special passion!”

In this Chapter, (JCB, Jeans), we are being shown how to see things as a Sociologist would. The best way to think about events as a Sociologist is to take into consideration several variables when looking at people and the world around us. It uses jeans as an example, allowing us to identify the many variables we hadn’t considered before. Culturally, we all have our perception of jeans. These perceptions are based in the era and area we were raised.

My initial thought of jeans is when I wore them in high school. As a teenager, I loved how they showed my curves and yet kept me appropriately covered. However, if my jeans were stained or had a hole in them, I could not wear them to high school in the 80s. My classmates would have thought I was poor or I had low self-esteem because I didn’t care about my appearance. Jeans had to be clean and free from any holes. Further, they had to be starched and creased. If we did find a hole or bleach stain on our precious pair of 501 jeans many would discard them. I on the other hand found an opportunity to cut these jeans into a pair of Summer shorts. Not realizing I was being green by preventing an item to be placed into a landfill.

It was easier as I became an adult to wear what was comfortable to me. The peer pressure was much less because I was more concern with raising my two children as a single parent. Amazingly, the paradigm began to shift in the 90s about used American jeans! I remember seeing and hearing about all the rave in the local news as well as in the New York Post, “Used American Jeans Power A Thriving Industry Abroad (https://www.nytimes.com/1994/08/22business/used-american-jeans-power-a-thriving-industry-abroad.html).” People my age (20s) were having in depth conversations about how these buyers were interested in our 501 jeans. They were paying hundreds, and up to thousands of dollars for a single pair of jeans, especially the ones our parents wore in the 1950s and 60s.

Today it is found to be a fashion trend to have a pair of jeans they call “designer jeans” where my generation would have called them damaged. In April, 2017, The Washington Post reported “Nordstrom is selling jeans caked in fake dirt for hundreds of dollars (http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2017/04/26nordstrom-is-selling-jeans-caked-in-fake-dirt-for-hundreds-of-dollars/?noredirect=on).” That is 425 U.S. dollars to be precise! Imperfect jeans have become such a trend that Forbes magazine even has an opinion on the matter in an article posted on September 2018. Their article titled “7 Denim Trends Everyone Will Be Wearing This Fall (https://www.forbes.com/sites/celiashatzman/2018/09/24/the-denim-trends-everyone-will-be-wearing-this-fall/#951cb5528ad7).” They share with the consumer their opinion the “Must haves” jeans which range from 70 to 300 dollars a pair. An American magazine which is mostly known for publishing financial information, such as investments and savings is now sharing with us on what to spend our money on. I surely would have thought they would stress the need to purchase items at discounted prices or deterring us from these purchases simply because of the environmental impact making these jeans have “The Environmental and Human Cost of Making a A Pair of Jeans (https://www.ecowatch.com/environmental-cost-jeans-2544519658.html).”

As adults we are able to make more conscientious decisions with our purchases. When I obtained a position with a company that could afford me to make, what many would consider extravagant purchases, I chose not to. Levis were fine, I did not covet the designer jeans. I prefer to buy items at non-profit agencies such as Salvation Army, who sells items, including name brand clothing at drastically reduced prices. The excitement of purchasing an item at such a huge discount has always been pleasing to me.

After I was injured on the job I gave away several business outfits to ladies who were returning to the work force. To me, it didn’t make any sense to just leave them in a closet while my career was on hold. Giving clothing to those less fortunate was instilled upon me by my parents who were born in Mexico. Every summer we would go to Mexico and visit my grandparents. We would bring boxes of clothing we had grown out of, and give them away to the children of the small town. It was an annual event which excited the poor children and me as well. To this day I donate to the Salvation Army because I know I am supporting an organization that helps over 200,000 people annually (https://easternusa.salvationarmy.org/use/salvation-army-stores). It just goes to show, with time and experience our perspective about things and people can change. Yet it takes us as individuals to decide what about our past perceptions have value, and what needs to be changed.

This is an interesting chapter starting off on how humans are intrigued with exploration beyond what we probably could ever imagine. It is amazing considering our first initial interest in space exploration was the moon. Now scientists are reaching out further into the universe and exploring Mars. Why are we so determined to push our limits when it comes to exploration? Is it not enough that we can just simply look up at the night sky to see the stars and moon in the evening? Why are we so intrigued in viewing things in depth and in many different ways? Just like the sciences, when it comes to people’s behaviors, we all have our ways of viewing and believing things.

The chapter discusses how each science may assess situations and individuals. It reminds me how many people are quick to place others into categories. I have watched elementary aged girls immediately form clicks at this small town school. They would notice the new girl in class and make judgments based on her appearance. The group leader (how she came to be was simply because the others saw her as the richer one) decides whether this new female student was well-dressed and looked the part to fit in. On the other side of the classroom was a second group of girls assessing the new female student. They all discussed whether or not she was nice enough to be part of their group.  

The chapter provides how Historians, Political scientists, Economists, Anthropologists, Psychologists, and Sociologist each have their objective in researching the same topic, Juvenile Delinquency. Like today’s society, difference of opinions are based on several factors. The real question is, are we willing to look into things deeper, or perhaps in a different way than what we are accustomed to?

Preface

My first assigned reading in Sociology is the preface, and I initially thought it would be just a boring summary of its content. Amazingly, I found myself relating to the first two pages. There are literally things we want in life that drive us, but why has this yearning consumed us so? I am a woman who has made the conscience decision to return to school a third time and probably not my last time.

The main reason I have chosen to return to school is to obtain a degree in a field that will allow me to financially do the things I desire. I was making a six-figure income when I was injured on the job, and found myself at the mercy of the workman’s compensation system. My experience with this system revealed it was not set up for me to get medical attention and return to work. Instead, it was set up to draw out the treatment until the company could terminate me. I had to sit and not necessarily ask “What I want to do when I grow up?” but rather what I wanted to do now with my life. I felt I already had known what I wanted to do with my life, but due to a situation that was out of my control, I am having to ask this very question again.

I am nothing like the character Robert DeNiro plays in the 2015 movie “The Intern.” I can honestly say, I am accustomed to today’s technology, social media trends and I am familiar with some of the jargon spoken by today’s youth. However, I will admit, my return to college as a middle-aged woman has been a bit of a culture shock. I see faces of students either my children’s age or younger. Nearly, every student has an electronic device in their hands or ear buds in their ears to block out the world around them. The scent of marijuana is now as common as a man’s cologne around campus. These things were not only considered inappropriate, but down right disrespectful, the last time I attended this very college 15 years ago.

I do have the opportunity to stay home due to a loving and supportive husband. However, I have an overwhelming desire to be debt-free, and want the ability to travel anywhere in the world at a moments notice. My craving to have that sense of security, as well as fulfilling my sense of adventure is like a strong yearning I can not ignore!  I have learned to accept that I can no longer return to my previous field due to my injury, but for some odd reason I cannot accept the fact that I can not have the things I want. It is as if I have become addicted to the lifestyle that I had before my injury. I can say it is a strong desire for me and look forward to looking into depth why it is. Is it because of personal pride?  Fear? Is it a status I feel I need to maintain for others in my social circle? This is how my journey begins.