Born alone, I was my mother’s first child and my father’s first boy. I was one of two of the biggest treasures my father possessed, now I am one of eight. Yet, I am the first boy. It is difficult to remember anything of so long past but flipping through albums, I see pictures of my purity and glimmers of hopes in my parents’ eyes. Silence was my favorite sound. I do remember innumerable quietness, and just observing, learning, forming sounds and pictures in my head, being a good boy, obeying. It is instincts to imitate and if one were to look closer, they would find creation in imitation. Thus, it is what man loves to do, create with our hands and so do I. Man versus the world for a woman, for survival. I believe man creates for a woman and even limits them for that reason. It is a method of assuring that competition occurs only between men and the fitter man wins. I am 20 now and still I know very little about the world, oh how much I long for those days where my mind did not know right from wrong and stereotypes or infiltration by the elite do not predetermine my life. Since conception to the rites of passage, becoming a man, a human’s destiny is to understand and to form an identity shaped by social and cultural factors, which influence our objectives, actions and ultimately our behavior.
I am man, anatomically I have a penis, and my penis drives my life force, my libido as Freud puts it. Freud’s theory on personality does not lend itself to other theorists and some may say his findings are bizarre, and supported by very little data. I happen to agree with some of his concepts, as much as I would like to deny it; I have a tendency to feel attracted to girls who inadvertently remind me of my mother. There I wrote it, I committed it to paper. Oh yeah and my favorite curse word is motherfucker? Anyways, there is one thing that Freud says that irks me; something about a fear of our father butchering our penises, which then in turn causes us to identify with him. I just do not see myself as a child having that fear, for example, my cousin is a single mother and her child calls me da-da, I feel he identifies with me because I argue with his mother and knows I have a dick as well as him. Generally, kids fear being hurt, but castration, hmmm maybe a little too much coke there Dr. Freud. Do not get me wrong I respect the man and his work; I mean someone had to come up with answers and they were not necessarily wrong. I just wish I met the guy, maybe I would understand.
There is that one theory I completely disagree with, proposed by Karen Horney, about males experiencing womb envy, yeah right as if I envy vagina, really? No, we men get it all in this society just because of our penis, we rule. We even get better stereotypes especially when they are incorrect, remember the one that says men are just smarter than women not very long ago it was a fact.
Ok, this has nothing to do with what I mentioned before but I agree with Chodorow’s theory on parental investment. The mother does have more investment in the development of a child; my dad abandoned us for a year, definitely detrimental to my gender identity formation. He did not only leave me, he left my other three younger brothers, yet I felt it most. Abandonment became my biggest fear, it is the reason I limit my interaction within social settings. The loss of my father forced me to lose my aggressiveness while my mother supports passiveness and becoming the bitch of the family. I was the sitter, and the assistant. I definitely was not ready to fill my dad shoes. I decided to focus my energy in school, the part of day I longed for most, my escape. A year passed, and he returned demanding custody he failed, instead received visitation rights. Still, I studied and set an example at school. A couple years went by and pa made another attempt and we were tired of being in the middle of a tug and war, my mother told us to lie and we did and he lost. These wars forced us to act up at home, steal at school and stores— misbehave, deviate. Instead of watching after my brothers, I let them make their own mistakes and continue to let them, I advise them but they are at the end of the day responsible for their own decisions. My mother finally gave in, my younger brothers left to live with dad, and I went to college.
I felt it the hardest but had it the easiest. My minority status and effort in a kindergarten class placed my name on a list. Eventually, I would find out in fifth grade that randomly I was to receive a slot in a scholarship program that remained open only if I returned to my very first school, Juan Pablo Duarte P.S. 132, I did. This program brought some much-needed happiness to my life at the expense of teasing and insults, it was so fucking worth it. Besides, I paid them very little mind and I would find a mom in the lunch monitor, school directors and teachers. This program was specifically to Stony Brook University, only seven of the original thirty made it, I was one of them. Seeming so good, I got the least beatings based alone on the luck of escaping the blame. Therefore, that stereotype that Spanish parents beat their kids is true, my brother got epilepsy from it. Along with being a naturalized American my root are rooted in Dominican Republic.
Many know of the island's clear beaches and sugarcane. The people happen to be the liveliest I have yet, to meet. The lifestyle is so easy-going and the rhythm of merengue is in their step as they walk. Dominican’s have their own stereotypes which work towards our advantage and inspire to validate. My favorite of them is the one that says, “Dominicans are hard workers”, which was one of the most important lessons my grandfather passed to my father. My grandfather holds a dear spot in my heart though he barely struck a conversation with us. He was a man of very little words his action spoke millions. Respecting him was a duty, his influences that lead to the Estevez seeds sprouting in America. At the beginning of this semester, my grandfather moved to another resting place, looking at the pictures, I felt neither pain nor contentment, just plain, emotionless. Now I regret, ever feeling that, now I stand honored to see bits of his image on my face.
Another stereotype is the one “that says all Dominican men are “mujeriego” (womanizers), my father is living testament of that one and my grandfather had 27 children with I do not know how many woman. Some stereotypes hurt my ego when I cannot perform as expected like being a great dancer or an amazing baseball player. I have the need to apologize and feel as if I let down all Dominicans around the world lacking those “innate” abilities (my mind is saying right now that I do).

Your parent’s culture influences yours. It is the basis of your traditions and rituals. As my parents baptized under Catholicism and so was I. Hence, my culture defines the history of my identity. My choices, experiences and acceptance of certain concepts of what it is to be a man chisels the present of my identity. Societal forces flesh out the future of identity, especially economic status, the power of media and technology, politics and government. It is difficult to stand and oppose the cutouts of men society ask you to become but you must deviate as one, while understanding the whole to realize. In our text, it mentions repeatedly that anatomically men and women are different but psychologically they are nearly the same. There are certain odds you have to beat to find and form your own identity. You must access god’s tool— your will to choose, and mindfully utilize whole-heartedly. My father had this great line in one of his poem it read “es hermoso vivir, Cuando se vive al hacerlo y hasta puedo decir que es agradable elegir, si se elige con certeza”—the beauty of life is found in simply living, and the gratitude of choosing develops when done with certainty, he is so right. So far, I beat the odds of making it to college, now to become president, nah, Barack Obama beat me on that race.