Cranky and Protective

My brother has always been really protective of me. It started soon after I came home from the hospital, and he piled blankets on me to make sure I stayed warm. Clearly his three year old brain had yet to learn about overheating or suffocating. When I was three, he saved his accident prone sister from driving her power wheels into the stream, and warned our parents when I almost drowned in a lake after falling through the ice. When middle school came around, he threatened to beat up the bullies saying mean things, and later in high school threatened to beat up the boy who tried to kiss me. No wonder I have bad luck with boys. College came around, and he'd always been a phone call away. He let me hang with him and his friends when I had no one, and even after just because they were more fun than being by myself. His protection has truly formed me into who I am today. It's why I feel bad for anyone who doesn't have an older sibling,and it's why I know I'll always have someone to turn to, even if it's just to put me in my place.  While I've felt protective of my friends before, it wasn't until last week that I felt the true force of what it means to try and protect something from someone meaner, someone ignorant. And I felt it not for a sibling, but for an entire culture. Learning from my brother, I got protective real quick, a d got heated even faster. The Lavery temper followed me here. Here's the thing. Having gone to Saint Michael's college, we were taught that doing service in another country first and foremost meant respecting the culture and the people. We were taught to go in with an open mind, to learn as much as we could and to be sensitive to the fact that we would not always understand the cultural subtleties or implications. Simply, we had to think of how our actions would be interpreted, both now and in the future; how they would affect our group, and the group after us. We were taught to think not of ourselves but of others. Oh, and we weren't allowed to drink or have sex. The small things. So when I started translating for a group of nurses, I figured they would all do the same. Put their lives on hold, put their needs on hold,in order to be here to better the lives of others. And granted, 99% of them did. 99% of them were great and wonderful. But haven't we learned that it's the 1% that can ruin it for everyone? And ruin it they did, at least for me. Simply put, there were a group of girls more interested in wearing nothing, in drinking until nothing was left, and of putting it all on the table than they were in leaving their needs behind and giving of themselves...in appropriate ways. Because most of my fellow translators were young Dominican men, under 20 for the most part, cute, Spanish speaking and kind, the girls went after them. And kissed them, slept with them, and from my view, used them. They came into the culture, and used it to their advantage. And who can blame the translators for giving in? What teenage boy wouldn't with drunk girls throwing themselves at them? So naturally, my Lavery blood kicked in and I got protective. And pissed. From where I stand, it was justified. Here's why. These girls came on a trip to help others, and instead were helping themselves to the culture in ways that were crass and rude. I don't care how much good they did during the day, they ruined it at night. Don't get me wrong. I get that going to a tropical island is sexy and fun and that you want to let loose a little. But you can do it with your pants on and in a way that doesn't disrespect the culture. Because at the end of the day, you're not only proving what your character is, but you're using the people here for your own gain, and making it harder for future groups. Because now, any white volunteer that comes through is going to be assumed to be easy, and there for a good time. And from personal experience, it's not much fun to deal with when those aren't you're motivations. Because when we get down to it, you're not falling in love with the boy like you say you are, you aren't going to keep in touch when you get home, and you're not going to marry him. So you leave, and what happens to the boy you just left? You used him, and you used his culture. I get that I'm ranting. I get that my writing is cranky and angry and might not make sense. I get that there are people who will read this and get offended. But guess what? I was offended. I was cranky and angry and therefore decided to write about it. Because that's what I do. And when you get protective of a culture, when you learn the implications and the subtleties, when you take the time to get to know the people, you can be cranky when people blatantly dont care. It's not about me knowing more. Its not about knowing the answers. It's about caring enough to think about your implications, to think about how your actions are perceived,to think about other people during the day and at night. And when I care so much about a place, and witness other people not giving a damn, mama bear comes out and she gets pissed. Brendan taught me well.  At the end of the day, I guess I also have to say thank you. Thank you to Brendan for not only keeping me alive and well during my formative years, but for also teaching me the meaning of protection. Thank you Saint Michael's for teaching me what real service means, for teaching me how to respect other cultures, and for making me sign a no sex contract. God knows I would have gone crazy without it (jokes, mom and dad). And I'll even give a shout out to the whores who came. Because without you, I might not have realized how fiercely Ive come to love this culture, with it's good and bad, or the extents that I would go to to defend it. And finally, thanks mom and dad for not letting Brendan suffocate me in my crib. Much appreciated. Wishing you a happy weekend, Siobhan