Me, myself, and I

I had to write my own personal "autoethnography" defining myself as a multicultural person for class and figured I'd share it here. Enjoy:


At first glance one may not think I am a multi-cultural person. But as the saying goes, you should not judge a book by its cover. Throughout my life I have been the victim of many stereotypes ranging from being Irish, a “Long Island” girl, attending SUNY “stONEONTA”, and being tall which is obviously reflective of my talent in basketball, just to name a few. While some of the characteristics surrounding these stereotypes may be true, these terms do not represent all of me. No words or concepts could accurately convey all the dimensions and complexities of any human being but I hope to do myself justice with this reflection.

My family likes to say that I am a mutt. I prefer to compare myself to an “everything bagel”. My closest ancestors originated from Britain, Scotland, Norway, Sicily, Ireland, and Denmark. My Sicilian, Norwegian, and Danish origins stem from my mother’s side of the family. My grandmother’s father, Hans Olaf Olsen, was born in Norway. Her mother, Agda Christine (whom I was named after) Bettanhaus was from Denmark. They came to America together in the early 1900’s to start their family. My grandfather’s parents were both from Sicily. His mother, Rosina Canale, and father, Giacommo Miceli also moved to America together in the early 1900’s to raise a family.Unfortunately I have no way of tracing my origins beyond my great-grandparents.
**(As a side note, I spent a large portion of my childhood convinced I was related to the cast of “Who’s the Boss?” Tony Danza was born in my grandparent’s town on Long Island, and his character’s name on the show was Tony Miceli. The coincidences were far beyond my comprehension as a child.)**

Growing up we always celebrated Thanksgiving at my mother’s parent’s house, where they prepared an Italian feast. The main course consisted of lasagna, manicotti, and stuffed sausages. For dessert we would have an abundance of Italian cookies, cheesecake, cannoli’s, and assorted pastries. It wasn’t until I started kindergarten that I learned this was not the traditional American Thanksgiving dinner.

Unfortunately I was unable to pinpoint exactly when my ancestors from my father’s side of the family arrived in America. Very few people have that information and I could not get in contact with them. I do know however know that they descended from Scotland, Ireland, and England.

Given my dominantly Irish heritage St. Patrick’s Day has and always will be a major holiday for my family. As far back as I can remember we would gather in my grandmother’s basement that was filled wall-to-wall with all the fixing’s for an Irish supper. There was always enough corned beef, kale, cabbage, boiled potatoes, beets, Irish stew, and soda bread to feed a small army (and given the size of the Noonan clan, there was never too much food). However, there is one tradition my nuclear family did not participate in that separated us from the rest of the Noonan’s… church. Both my mother and father were very spiritual and rejected the idea of organized religion. Their opinions on this matter strengthened with time. When my sister was born (she is seven years older) they had her baptized. Soon after that they decided to let their children decide whether they would partake in religious activity when they were old enough to make an educated choice. Religion has created somewhat of a divide between the rest of my family and I since I identify as being agnostic.

I grew up in a very unusual environment. While the rest of my father’s side of the family is extremely successful and wealthy we were always the “black sheep”. My father perpetuated this feeling with his warped sense of reality and refusal to ever “work for the man”. He was never formally diagnosed with anything, since he refused to see a psychologist because of his anti-establishment views. However I believe he suffers from severe social and emotional disorders, in addition to his marijuana addiction. My mother is a diagnosed schizophrenic who was in and out of hospitals my whole life for treatment. Neither went to college, nor worked on the books since their early twenties. My father suffered a back injury while working as a carpenter and has collected Social Security ever since. My mother also collects disability because of her mental health. Welfare and food stamps were the norm in my household.

Abuse and fighting were also a daily ritual. Shortly after my eighth birthday my mother finally had enough and moved out. My sister followed soon after, leaving me alone with my emotionally immature and abusive father. By this time I had the reputation of being the “poor girl with the crazy parents” so social isolation was something I’d grown accustomed to. I had very few friends, and they all identified with me in that they grew up in unhealthy environments as well. I grew up very fast, and the roles reversed quickly making me more of a parent to my father than he was to me.

About a year prior to my mother moving out I was diagnosed with Basal Cell Nevus Syndrome. This is a rare genetic condition, however I am an anomaly in that there is no known family history of this disease. The symptoms that significantly affect my everyday life are skin cancer, cysts, and skeletal abnormalities. I spent the majority of my childhood as a guinea pig at every major hospital in New York City and Long Island. This syndrome exacerbated my social isolation as it made me the “poor pale vampire girl with crazy parents and a weird shaped face”. Growing up being teased and tormented daily fostered in me a tough attitude as well as a deep compassion and empathy for others.

When I turned fifteen I started supporting myself and worked off the books as a housecleaner in wealthy towns on eastern Long Island. While this experience was sometimes trying as it reinforced my own internal oppression for being poor and from a bad area, I became determined not to be a product of my environment. This along with my sister’s returned presence in my life after she graduated from college fueled my motivation to escape my vacuum of a town. Despite my father’s blatant disapproval I applied for every scholarship and grant I was eligible for until I could afford to go away to school. My freshman year residence hall was the nicest place I ever lived and I was incredibly grateful for it. Leaving my town and being surrounded by an entire campus of successful people with goals and aspirations was truly inspiring. It wasn’t long before I decided to cut all ties with my father since he did nothing but pull me down and cause me emotional distress. While I will never forget where I came from, I have also never looked back and am extremely proud of the life I made for myself.

In a perfect world all the aforementioned traits and experiences would have no impact on how others view me. Unfortunately we do not live in a perfect world. For many, I will always be a “Long Island” girl, or a Welfare case. I own those titles and am not ashamed of them. They have shaped me and provided me with a greater understanding of others, especially those living in poverty. Growing up in a less than desirable area where violence, drug deals, and poverty were the norm has provided me with an appreciation for the struggles of others. It is very hard to empathize with someone when you have never walked a day in their shoes. But I still own those “shoes”, and always will. While I no longer survive on “No Frills” food and social security checks, or heat my house with a stove, those memories ring loud in my memory every day, keeping me humble and appreciative of all that life provides me. Many people rationalize their lifestyles as the result of being a product of their environment. I am proof that this does not have to be the case, and I have my sister to thank for that. I cannot imagine where I would be today if she did not believe in me and do everything in her power to help me see my own potential. Deep down I believe everyone has the potential for greatness. This notion guides me in my practice as a student affairs practitioner. I encourage my students to pursue their dreams despite what limitations they may see, or what others have to say. As it was so eloquently put in one of my favorite movies Little Miss Sunshine, “You do what you love, and f#ck the rest.” I am doing just that.