I am Morgan Campbell: sister, daughter, niece, friend, and world traveler. I will be the first to tell you that I come from a very unique background, and even stranger parents, but I lead a very curious life, in turn, making my life goals and aspirations quite interesting. I was born to Riki and Frank, from Idaho and Brooklyn, respectively. I have two brothers, Shawn and Colin. We were all born in Wilmington, Delaware, but shortly after Colin arrived, we moved. My Dad, who works for Eaton Corporation, better known as Cutler-Hammer, gets transferred a lot. We left Delaware for Pennsylvania, and then 17 months later fled Pittsburgh for California. We lived in Los Angeles for 5 years, but moved again when I was in second grade to sunny South Carolina, where my parents still live.
We settled in Camden: the oldest inland city of SC and home to the Carolina Cup. My mom, who used to work in a hospital, opened up a giant retail business. This business, a three story mall in which we owned 6 out of 10 stores, consumed all of my families’ time. I started working in that store when I was 12, legally getting paid when I was 14, and managing it when I was 17. My brothers and I worked everyday, seven days a week, unless it was soccer season. My family’s business, which we later sold when my youngest brother graduated from high school, spawned all of my life goals and made me who I am today. It taught me to be competent, responsible, hard-working, and most importantly taught me the value of a dollar.
First, I would never have thought that my family’s Christmas tradition would be the deciding factor in what I wanted to study in college, but I was wrong. When our store was open, we were there, and when it was closed we were most likely still there. We were only closed for a few days each year. Christmas and New Year’s were two of them. Therefore, Christmastime was the only time of the year that we could go on vacation. 2002 marked the start of the Campbell’s Christmas vacation tradition. We didn’t get a tree, and we didn’t get presents—instead, we flew out of America on Christmas Day to crazy little towns in Europe to go skiing.
Before we began these odysseys, I assumed that everyone on the planet, except for some terrorist whackos, thought Americans were the greatest. We think we’re the greatest, so, of course, they ought to as well. Sike! Can you believe there are people, whole countries full of people, who, when they think about Americans, think we are resource-guzzling, loud, uncouth slobs? It’s true!
I’m speaking primarily of the French. They knew I was American before I ever opened my mouth. I was blonde, showered and wearing pink. Plus, I was friendly. Do not smile too much in France. They hate it. In restaurants, the waiters and waitresses refused to speak English, even though we would find out later during the course of the meal that they spoke it quite well. So there I would be pointing and nodding like an idiot when they knew perfectly well what I wanted to order.
Going in a patisserie one morning, all five of us trooped in like baby ducks after my mother, who is the only one in our family that speaks passable French and who leads us everywhere while in that country. “Bonjour,” said my mom to the proprietress. The owner then said “Bonjour” to each of us as we came in and mumbled “Bonjour” back to her, self-consciously. Except Dad, the caboose. My dad does not speak or understand one word of French. Not oui, not merci. Nothing. He is terrified when people talk to him. So when the lady greeted my dad, he boomed “Au revoir”, which cracked us all up except the lady, who looked insulted, and my dad who had no clue that he had just said “goodbye” to her “hello”.
The people of Woergl, Austria were not as overtly rude as the French. The Austrians were just generally indifferent to us, like, “You’re from America? How nice. Want some torte?” The very formal couple who owned our hotel did warm to us a little by the end of the week. They honored my mom by letting her kiss the New Year’s Eve piglet that was paraded through the restaurant at midnight, although they may have been intentionally embarrassing her. We still don’t know.
In Ulm, Germany, our rent-a-van got stuck, we thought, in the snow. It would not budge. A very nice couple decked out in furs and business attire stopped to help. Thank God they did because the man finally figured out that my father had not released the parking brake. I’m sure that couple is still telling that story at their cocktail parties about the stupid Americans “stuck” in two inches of snow.
My self-esteem was completely restored in Slovenia, however. From the second we crossed the border, my little blue US passport was like Charlie Bucket’s golden ticket. Everyone tried to accommodate us by speaking English. Everywhere we went we were welcomed and told to come again. They wanted us to go home and tell all of America to come to Slovenia. I don’t think they had ever seen Americans, except on television. We were like celebrities. My brothers and I thought, “This is more like it! Go, Slovenia!”
Finland was amazing as well, and they looked at us like we were aliens. Most of the young people my older brother and I met at the bars had never seen an American face-to-face. The only ones they knew of were sports stars and Britney Spears. It was freezing cold there, and all they eat is reindeer, but they got some great skiing, and they love to party. Granted it is “night” over there for all but 2 hours during winter, but it was still worth it. Not to mention, getting the Finnish police called on me and my brothers at 5 in the morning—long story—but it was a story I will tell my grandchildren about.
Whether we were getting in trouble with the law, or laughing hysterically at my Dad’s attempted French, or the size of our rental car, our crazy vacations are why I am now majoring in Spanish and getting a minor in Management. I became fascinated with language, and being bilingual or trilingual. It all started when we went to Spain after my freshman year of college, and I actually communicated with the Spaniards for my entire family, instead of my mother who usually played translator in German and French. I made hotel reservations, and ordered their dinners, I got us our ski passes (even with a discount), and, most of all, it was fun. I fell in love with being able to tell the 5’4” little Spanish lady that her dinner was delicious and proceed to translate to the rest of my family the story of how she caught the fish that morning in her backyard—the Mediterranean Sea. That little old lady, and the story she told me about her fish, is what changed my outlook on life, and made me who I am today.
I want to speak Spanish whenever and wherever I can. I want to ultimately do international business in the coffee trading industry, or work in the UN, or move to Cartagena, Colombia and work in the American Embassy, or just move to Charlotte, NC—I’m sure they got some Mexicans there who don’t speak English. Something, I don’t care—as long as I’m speaking Spanish and getting paid I will be happy. Some people ask me what my major is and when I tell them, they say “Why?” I say, “Why not?” It is becoming such a marketable skill, and the “industry” (AKA immigration) is growing exponentially every day. So the people who ask me why I want to speak Spanish and why I want to know absolutely everything about the Spanish speaking world is simply because I’m obsessed with it, and someday I’ll probably be making more money then them. Fair enough.
I also cannot wait to study abroad and maybe, in my professional career, live abroad. I want to change the misconceptions that Europeans have about Americans. Yeah—we may be obese and yeah we may use a lot of oil, but we are cool people too. Not as cool as they are—but pretty darn close. I just want Europeans to realize that not all of America is fat and polluted, and not all Americans are the unkempt monsters they think we are.
Secondly, my most important life goal is to just be a good person. I hope to gain respect from my elders and peers at work. I hope to be a wonderful mother, and a loving wife. I do not want to be in debt or have any financial problems. I also hope to own my own house, cars, and, eventually, make smart investments. I hope to have many friends and host cute little cocktail parties. I want to be a well-rounded person and be the best possible person I can be. I don’t ever want to get divorced. I want all of my children to go to college. I want them to tell me everything and take care of one another. Most of all, I can’t wait to implement the Christmas traditions that I grew up with into my own family’s life, so that maybe my children will benefit from visiting various places across the globe as I have.
In conclusion, within the next 10 to 15 years I see myself graduating and assuming the position of Spanish speaker somewhere. Whether it be in America, or overseas it does not matter as long as I can fulfill my dream of being a bilingual international businesswoman. I see myself getting married and starting a family, and I see us leading healthy lifestyles and being very close knit. I will teach my children Spanish from the day they are born in order to prepare them for the future. I cannot wait to see what the next few years have in store for me. Granted, I know it will not be the fairy-tale life I have dreamt of, because things happen, but I will try my best to be a good person, loving mom and wife, and strong business woman. Most importantly, I anticipate the rest of my life and only hope that I can aspire to what I dream of. I cannot wait to show my children the world and show them how to be honest individuals. Hopefully, the way we celebrate Christmas will be as meaningful and beneficial to them as it was to me.
