Blending the American "dream"

For as long as I could remember I was supposed to be a doctor. "What are you going to be when you grow up?" Even at an early age, I would answer the most common adult to child question with great confidence, "A doctor!" Of course, this answer would be received with proud grins, eyes and nods from any of the following: the Colonel, Rambo, an auntie, an uncle, Lola or Lolo or even from all these folks in the same room. Nonetheless, it was my dream or at least what I thought was my dream. Maybe because that's what the Colonel did or maybe it was because I wore her doctor's coat as my Halloween costume for 3 years straight beaming with pride as I would glance down on the embroidered letters that spelled my name with the salutation, "M.D." after it. Or maybe it was because my own Lola one day told me how great it would be for me to take after my mother and how proud she would be if her apo also became a doctor and how I would make everyone so proud. As a young child I had no idea what that meant, proud. But I figured, by the way their faces lit up with joy and hope that it must have been a good thing. And as a child, all you want to do is make the others around you happy. So when that one day came and my Lola told me how great it would be for me to, "Study hard, get good grades, get honors, so you can be a doctor just like your mom, so we will all be so proud." There was nothing left to do but nod and announce, "Okay Lola, yes I want to be a doctor!"

And that's how the journey of what-I-thought-was-my-dream-but-it-really-wasn't-but-I-did-it-anyway-because-I-was-too-young-to-know-any-better started. Lucky for me and most of my academic career, getting good grades came easy. Straight As? Done. Honors? Easy peasy. Seems like I was on the glory road, on my way to make my whole family, proud. Being the eldest granddaughter, to the eldest child of my grandparents on my mother's side and the only American born (most of the Colonel's siblings never immigrated to the United States, hence I was the only American born cousin for a very long time) I was perfection. As I grew older, entered high school and started noticing boys, the "dream" started to take more shape. Visits to medical schools with my parents would add to the "dream": 4 years, graduate high school, 4 more years, graduate college, another 4 more years graduate med school (insert meet future husband here, who would probably be white but more on that in another post), a couple years or so of residency, one year of globe-trotting with my now fiance, wedding, happily ever after to include the white picket fence. It was the perfect dream. It just wasn't mine.

Fast forward to present day and if you've been following this blog, you would know that "dream" didn't happen. For a plethora (and possibly quite a lot of material for the blog) of reasons, I, after 2 and a half years of being a failing biology major in undergrad just stopped the "dream". No longer could I rely on stellar grades coming easily, in college, I actually had to work for it. And how can one work hard at something they didn't love? But even though the "dream" stopped, it took another couple more years to let it go. Just imagine growing up thinking, more importantly, believing you were to become something then gradually realizing that the path you were on wasn't your journey at all? That's a huge pill of unlearning to swallow! But in my own beginning (also known as the end of that "dream") it was the best decision I ever made. 

Now that I have children of my own, do I want to encourage them to be doctors? Sure! A little hard work for a profession that provides without a doubt financial security is always something I will promote. And it will make me proud. The difference? I am mindful to communicate to my girls that anything they do, dream of doing, pursue and fail but try their best will make me proud. Growing up I never got the explanation of what actually would make my family proud, I thought the pride from would only come from the straight shot route of being a doctor. And that left me confused for a very long time. From my family in the Philippines perspective, it's easy now to understand why they associate pride and success with prestige and money. I think as Filipino-Americans we fail to remember the environment our native families came from where financial hardship (for my families at least) was a part of life. Whereas here in the United States following the "dream" is supposed to mean following what makes you happy. So, who's right? Does success equal achieving financial stability? Or does success equal achieving one's dream without a dollar sign attached to it? How about both?

As I observe the girls grow and pick up certain skills: Meatball loves to build and has a great eye for color matching and Spaghetti loves to be active and socialize) I feel it's my responsibility to nurture these budding skills. Create a blank canvas of opportunity for them to figure out what they like and don't like but constantly reminding them to finish what they started. With that in mind, I don't know what the future will hold for their dreams. I just know that I'll be there to support them.