Analysis Of I Just Want To Be Average, By Mike Rose

Starting from the very moment we are brought into this world, we begin to shape ourselves into the people we will one day become. The people that surround us; family, friends, peers, teachers, authority figures, and others, influence our thoughts, actions, and motivations. The people we become, physically, and the person we let others see or not see, is all dependent on who significantly influenced our lives. In the past twenty years, I have established the person I am and hope to be. When looking at my physical self, I am a female, with light brown, some-what curly hair, green eyes, and lightly complexed. I stand five feet, seven and a half inches tall, and weight about one-hundred and twenty-seven pounds. I see myself as slim, a lean

Rose wrote about his time in “vocational education” in Our Lady of Mercy. While in “vocational education”, Rose began to believe he as the educational level he had been labeled. However, when he came upon a teacher who saw and expected more of Rose, he began to apply himself, and moved from “vocational education” into College Prep classes. If it wasn’t for Jack MacFarland believe Rose was not the label bestowed upon him, he wouldn’t have developed into the person everyone came to know and admire. Labels have a big effect on who we are, how we see ourselves, and who we aspire to be. It is my belief that the more authority a person has, the more influential their label becomes.
I believe that our experience have an important role on shaping who we are. In, Why I Write: No Becomes Yes, written by Elie Wiesel, he feels that as a survivor of the Holocaust, it is his responsibility to continue the lives of the victims through stories. His experience in the camps have impacted who he became as an adult. He began to write about life in the camps as a way to continue the lives of many victims; to make sure they are never forgotten. To me, it appears as if Wiesel feels that his purpose for being saved was to keep the spirits of the others

My dad was dropping me off at daycare. As I walked excitedly to the door, with my nail polish case in hand, my little foot caught on the cement walkway. The next thing I remember is hitting the cold, hard cement, my nail polish container, still in hand, falling to the ground with me. As I laid there, my dad, walking behind me, scooped me up. Kneeling down in front of me, he looked at me and told me to brush it off. I can remember the tears welling up in my eyes, my knees and hands throbbing, and the sound of broken nail polish bottles against the side of the container, the nail polish dripping onto the walkway. The one thing I remember all too clearly is dad saying, “Hatterick’s don’t cry!” So, I didn’t cry, not in front of dad.
When I got inside with the daycare provided, I gave dad a hug and a kiss and watch as he shut the door behind him. As soon as the door was shut, I began to cry over my newly obtained bruises. To this day, that one moment in time still affects me. Whenever in the presence of dad, I try to never cry, to not show emotion when in the presence of anyone, but mom. Whenever I feel myself ready to cry, the salty tears welling, I hear the words of dad echoing in my mind, “Hatterick’s don’t cry”. For this reason, I sometimes wear a cold and unemotional mask in front of others. A mask I think my dad would be proud