Examples of Students Behavior Analytic Biographies

Andrea Rau-Behavior Analytic Autobiography

A SEARCH FOR MY JEWISH MOTHER

A search for my “Jewish Mother”; a voyage that all must attempt. In this quest lies the opportunity to justify your odd, obsessive- compulsive tendencies and understand your parents’ neurotic and unyielding ways. I begin by examining both of my parents. Yes, there are definitely signs of the “Jewish Mother Syndrome.” But what is the etiology of this fascinating syndrome? Ah, yes! That would be Grandma Jenio and Grandpa Rau. Although completing unrelated, these two individuals passed on the genes to one of their children.

My grandma Ida Jenio was a beautiful, kind-hearted woman who could never be made happy. She lacks the traits of a Jewish Mother; however she provides all the reasons to become one. Spaghetti sauce running over the pot, pots and pans arranged ever so messily in the cupboards and stacks of laundry awaiting the arrival of the iron are all motivating variables for becoming neurotic. And this is where my mom comes into the picture. During her youth my mom would voluntarily spend her Saturday afternoons organizing pots and pans in neat, sizable order, ironing clothes, and vacuuming ever so carefully to design the most beautiful creation of “carpet lines”. My mom displayed these anal qualities in her academic life as well. She has achieved success by graduating from high school and the undergraduate and graduate level with honors and ending her academic career with a Bachelor’s Degree in Special Education for Mentally Impaired and a Master’s Degree in Learning Disabilities.

My mom practically coined the term “Jewish Mother”. When we are expecting company, no member of the family is allowed to put anything in the bathroom wastebaskets. In the event someone is to throw a tissue in the bathroom prior to company arrival, overcorrection is implemented and the tissue must be removed in addition to emptying other visible wastebaskets. Please don’t get the wrong impression of my mother though. She is the most amazing woman in the world and many of her Jewish Mother qualities have had a tremendously positive effect on me. My brother and I were the only kids on the block with a scheduled study time. We arrived home, had a ½ hour to unwind and eat a snack, then study time began. The kitchen timer was set and we were required to work the entire time. My brother had a tendency to appear as though he was working, while creating some other mischief. Therefore, my mom was required to sit at the table and monitor our performance. In my brother’s academic life he focused on process rather than product and after years of struggle my mom softened and simply settled for any productive work. As for me…I required myself to write my spelling words repeatedly until each was perfect.

My grandpa Delbert Rau was a corporal in the marines and often brought those solider-like qualities home. Although he was a kind and loving father, he ran his household like boot camp with very rigid and precise rules. All members of the family were required to chew each bite 32 times before swallowing and unable to leave the dinner table unless every single last bite was eaten! Although he is not a perfect example of a Jewish Mother, the military rearing environment was one of which rigid behavior was reinforced.

My father naturally exhibits many of those qualities as well. Although not nearly strict as my grandpa (or as anal as my mother), when he is passionate about something, watch out, here comes a “want-to-be Jewish Mother”! My dad coached me in soccer for approximately 5 years and I was always forced to be a perfect example. He would preach “practice makes perfect!” as I ran laps for punishment of a poor practice or, when I had to return to shooting over and over until I made each shot correctly. He also paralleled a broken record with his repetitive demands for summer soccer camp applications. Needless to say, I spent 2 months each summer sweating at soccer camps and training.

Aside from obsessive cleaning habits and army-inspired coaching traits both of my parents emphasized the importance of academic success. Attending college was not an option for me; it was a predetermined decision. From my first freshman semester to my now first graduate school semester, my dad had not stopped saying, “So, when you get your Ph.D. …” He wants nothing more than to introduce me as “Dr. Andrea Rau”. With my inner Jewish Mother and the support of my parents I may one day have those three important letters following my name.

I began imitating my mom’s behaviors at a very young age. I am one of few children who chose a toy vacuum over a Barbie doll. My Jewish Mother training also began very young. As soon as I was old enough to be a in “big girl bed” I was old enough to start making it as well. That bed was made, remade and then smoothed out a million times until there was not a wrinkle to be found and the pillow sat perfectly up right. To this day the main attraction of my home is the store-like display of a perfectly made bed. It is somewhat embarrassing to admit, however when I do fail at making my bed first thing in the morning, I become overwhelmed with anxiety. My mom always says, “You never know when someone will stop by unexpectedly and you don’t want them thinking you keep a messy house.” Therefore, feel free to stop by because my house is perfectly clean!

As a 5 th grader I had very few responsibilities with one being good hygiene. My mother stood monitoring the bathroom as my brother and I rigorously brushed our teeth every morning and every night. For that reason, I prided myself in a perfect set of pearly whites. I also was proud of my 5 year running total of perfect 100% correct spelling tests! However, one particular day fate had a different plan. I cried myself to sleep that night when I received my first 98% and my first cavity! This was a day never to be forgotten.

I carry my strict regimen through all aspects of life. Trying to succeed as a 5’3” goalie, I ran additional laps after soccer practice or came home and jumped rope until my legs buckled. Even after my 5 th grade mishap, I continued to focus strongly on my grades and managed to make honor role every year.

At 21 years old, I am still unsure as to which of my parents is a bigger softy, even more so, a bigger Jewish Mother. What I am sure of, is that my parents instilled in me a powerful combination of skills such as strong work ethic, motivation, organization, priority and self-control. Now whether or not I will be a professional soccer goalie in the U.S. Olympics is still a goal of mine. As to flawless teeth and perfect spelling…I still have some work to do.

As I reflect on the discipline in my life I am humored that the Jewish Mother in both of my parents still controls my behavior 2 ½ hours away! This only proves that I have already begun the process of becoming my parents. My inner Jewish Mother has evolved and is energetic and determined to save the next generation.

Jessica Irish-Behavior Analytic Autobiography

My Jewish Mother

Who is my Jewish mother? I have been thinking about that question since the day we watched the slide show on Dr. Malott’s Jewish mother in class. At first I thought that maybe I don’t have a Jewish mother. But then if that is the case, where did I get the discipline, drive, and motivation to get this far and do so well in school? So, after much consideration I have decided my father is my Jewish mother.

My dad was somewhat discrete with his molding me into an independent woman. There was never a time when he told me that I had to do things on my own. Whenever I asked for help in some area he would not jump up and help me right away. He usually had some sort of suggestion on how I could solve the problem another way, but still on my own. For example, I am horrible at spelling and I’ve always been horrible at it. When ever I had trouble spelling a word I would ask my dad how to spell it. His response was always, “Go look it up in the dictionary.” Now my thought on this was how are you supposed to look a word up in the dictionary if you don’t know how to spell it? There were times when I would spend half an hour looking for a word like “entitled” because I thought it started with an “I.” It was only after I had struggled for awhile that he would give me a hint, but eventually I learned to look in the dictionary before I went and asked him for help.

The other day in class we talked about having stories read to you as a child. I started thinking about that because I don’t remember being read to as a kid. My memories are all of me reading to my parents. I had gone though novels pretty quickly because I was to read at least one chapter to my mom or dad every night before I went to bed. To this day I still enjoy reading novels and if I have one around the house, I read at least a chapter every night before I go to sleep.

I was talking with my dad and a couple of my aunts this weekend about writing this essay. We started talking about their lives growing up and what kind of rules my grandparents had for them. My grandpa went into the military when he was 18 and just recently retired. The military was a part of his whole family’s life. There was a strict order about everything. The house was always clean because all of the kids had daily chores that were to be done, dinner was on the table at 6 every night, homework was done as soon as you came home from school, etc. When we started talking about the rules my dad grew up with it all sounded very familiar to me because they were the same rules that I grew up with.

School was always the number one priority when it came to my siblings and me. The rule was that as soon as you came home from school you started your homework. You were not allowed to watch TV, go outside, and play with your friends, etc. until your homework was completed. When I was younger my dad checked my homework every night to make sure it was completed, but as I got older he stopped checking it. Even though he wasn’t checking it I made sure it was done because I did not want to get in trouble because my teacher called to say I wasn’t doing my homework.

If I were to break one of the rules and get caught my dad never told me he was angry, he was just disappointed. He being disappointed in me always made me feel much guiltier then him being mad at me ever would have. I always felt very guilty when I brought home a report card with anything less than straight A’s on it. My dad would look at the report card that had four A’s and one A- and say “very nice, I’m proud of you, but what’s with the A-.” He always said it in a loving/joking way, but I always felt like I had let him down. My mom on the other hand, would tell me not to be so hard on myself and to think about how a C was “average” and even though I got an A- I was still much better than the “average kid.” That usually did not make me feel much better since none of my friends were getting B’s or C’s either. So not only did I have to make sure I didn’t disappoint my dad, but I had to make sure I wasn’t doing any worse than my friends were.

My dad had a similar philosophy about sports as he did about school. If you were going to do something, give it your all and do it right the first time. I was a cheerleader for all four years of high school and he never missed a football or basketball game I cheered at, and he went to every one of my cheerleading competitions. He was always there on the sidelines with his video recorder or at least his digital camera.

My dad was never that dad that screamed and threw a fit from the sidelines about their kid making a mistake or the coach not playing them enough, and I thank him for that (if there were any of those parents around he was usually the one who went over to them and told them to shut-up and just let the kids play). However, he did make sure that I worked hard at what I was doing. I had cheer practice everyday after school. Then I would come home and do my homework. Once that was done I worked on whatever I needed to for cheerleading. He bought me a trampoline so I could work on my jumps. He paid for tumbling lessons so that I could work on my back flips (a complete waste on money, I never got any closer to being able to do them). He also helped with every fundraiser we had so that we could pay to go to the competitions and get new uniforms, etc.

I am grateful for my grandfather being so strict with my dad because he ended up using the same techniques on me. I do not believe I would have gotten as far or have accomplished as much as I have if my dad had not been my Jewish mother. Because of him I work as hard as I can and am not happy with anything less then my best work. Without the fear of disappointing my dad, I probably would have slaked off and became a bum. But instead, I am in graduate school working hard towards my goal and working even harder not to disappoint the most important man in my life, my Jewish mother, my dad.

Tamina Stuber -Behavior Analytic Autobiography

My Jewish Mother from East Elmhurst, New York

My history of a Jewish mother begins in New York.  It was home to my grandmother, grandfather, and their five children.  Grandma ran a tight ship.  She insisted her children look presentable out in public, have an education, and represent the family well.

So how did Mrs. Jones maintain compliance with her three important rules?  The name of the game was shame sprinkled with a little fear and intimidation.  Interestingly enough her scare tactics have been frequently employed by my own mother. Her repertoire includes “the ever so aversive look”, the subtle “don’t forget you’re black and I am not raising you to be a statistic” reminders, and finally the positive practice contingency.

I can recall how those tactics impacted my upbringing. I was frequently the receiver of the immediate response contingent presentation of “the aversive look”.  One incident stands out in my mind.  I had just perfected a trick with my bottom lip that I couldn’t wait to show my friend at church.  However, there was no time to show him before the service.  So as I sat in boredom listening to the preacher, I decided to make good use of my time and practice.  Seconds later I felt the burn of “the look” from my mother punishing a skill that I thought surely would land me in the book of Most Impressive Tricks by my friend’s account. 

Then there were the “don’t forget you’re black and I am not raising you to be a statistic” reminders.  I am sure it would not take a stretch of the imagination to figure out the use of this phrase. Nevertheless, to this day many of my discretions about who I hang around with are influenced by my mother’s partiality to those identified as “going somewhere in their lives” versus “the hoodlums”.     

Finally, my Jewish mother put the principles of positive practice and overcorrection to good use.  When I failed to print the letter “D” correctly I had to write it over and over again until I was able to do it to her satisfaction.  When our homework was sloppy, our beloved mother ripped it up and made you start from scratch.  If you failed to make your bed in the morning (or it wasn’t done neatly) she pulled off all of the covers and left them in a pile for you when you returned home from school. Need I say more?

Despite the aversive nature of my Jewish mother’s repertoire of contingencies, I believe her actions did more good than harm.  No parent or child is perfect.  True, some of my behaviors are only influenced by the fear of punishment, penalty, or disapproval but I feel I should emphasize that it was not all bad.  Occasionally, her tactics led to moments of entertainment (like the time she unexpectedly leapt from the closet of my brother’s classroom to teach him a lesson about lying and talking back to the teacher).  Additionally some of her tactics spared our delicate bottoms during times when the rest of the world would have given us a spanking.  Lastly, some of the experiences I have had as a child have positively shaped the lady I am today.  I am proud to say that I look presentable out in public, obtained an education, and am not an embarrassment to my family.

Behavior Analytic Autobiography: Dru Millerwise

The Search for a Jewish Mother

The search for your Jewish mother is one of inner reflection. In my attempt to label my personal Jewish mother I learned quite a bit about who I am and how I operate as a student, employee, and human being. I am fortunate to have a person in my life that cares enough about me to live up to their responsibilities as a parent to guarantee that I turn out at least moderately decent. My Jewish mother is my father David Millerwise. He and I have been together for 24 years and if it weren’t for him, I would be a fraction of the man I am today.

My father altered his habits when I was born ceasing his drinking and smoking quite immediately so he could be a positive role model as well as a reliable father. These are not easy behaviors to terminate and he did so without question when he brought me home. My dad was able to use the aversive condition of “being a bum father,” to punish his inappropriate behaviors of smoking a cigarette and drinking an excess of alcohol. As I mentioned before, people can go their entire lives without conquering these problem behaviors. Often the effects of smoking and drinking get the better of them and worsen if not shorten the lives they lead. It is fair to say that the people who have difficulties surmounting these degenerate behaviors probably never had a good Jewish mother. Fortunately for my father and eventually me, he did have a great Jewish mother.

For my father, both of his parents were typical Jewish mothers. In the Millerwise house, studying and chores preceded the mere opportunity for playing outside or watching television. His mother was the performance manager on most all things. His father was the enforcer and often, the distributor of the aversive stimulus (scolding or physical contact in the form of a “spanking.”). My grandparents instilled values in my father that were necessary for becoming a future Jewish mother.

Unbeknownst to my father, he trained a future behavior analyst with the very ideology that is paramount to our science! When I was very young, I had a tantrum. My behavioral history did not involve many tantrums; however, they did exist. As I was screaming, crying, and flailing my appendages for attention, my father picked me up from my crib and proceeded to place me on the floor and smile at me. I remained on the floor until my inappropriate behavior stopped due to complete lack of reinforcing outcome. That being said, the reinforcer I was seeking followed the cessation of my aversive behavior. My father extinguished my inappropriate behavior (no attention à tantrum à no attention) and showed the infant Dru the appropriate contingencies to achieve the attention I craved (no attention à make noises at an appropriate level à attention). I have not engaged in a tantrum since this impromptu intervention. When he told me that story he explained it as, “I taught you how to speak to me! Crying won’t get you anywhere in life.” To this day I still hear that crying/whining/complaining will not get me anywhere, which I believe to be very true (I wonder why?).

As I grew up, studying and doing homework became the next behaviors in need of some performance management. I have always been told that I am an exceptionally bright person when I apply myself. I found this behavior of “applying myself” to be quite difficult as the natural contingencies were incredibly ineffective (given level of knowledge à “apply myself” àinfinitesimally higher level of knowledge). Even the rule governed analogs didn’t seem to help (no A in class at end of term à “apply myself” à A in class at end of term). It wasn’t until I received my first poor grade that I discovered, possibly the most aversive stimulus ever!

My father, the man I admire, trust, love, and respect, is disappointed in me! He does not approve of my effort and knows I am better than what I am bringing home. He’s not mad, just… disappointed (Again, possibly the most aversive stimulus ever!). Life was great until the end of the marking period when report cards came home (I have daddy’s approval à I show daddy my grades à I no longer have daddy’s approval). In fact, this was such an aversive stimulus for me that I finally wised up. I finally started using my brain and came to the conclusion that if he didn’t see the report card we could go on being happy. This worked for about a week. Now the disappointment was tag team partners with anger toward my sleazy deviant act. Needless to say this never happened again; however, my future report cards still weren’t perfect.

They were getting better but not perfect yet. With the knowledge of his disappointment being an aversive stimulus, he began to harness his power. Now my father required me to keep a planner that I had to show him as well as doing the homework on the dinner table where he could observe me. I also had to go through my homework with him to ensure a good product. On top of that, he realized that a report card every marking period wasn’t enough, so he had my teachers give me a weekly progress report that had my current grade as well as any positive or negative feedback about my behavior that week. This was delivered every Friday, which could make or break my weekend. All of these things were tools that my father successfully employed to make me better.

Once all of the aforementioned tools were implemented I began to see results immediately. With my father’s approval contingent on the successful completion of my planner and homework as well as a good progress report, academic triumph was imminent (no praise of approval à show dad completed homework/planner/progress report à praise of approval). Of course, the punishment inverse of that contingency was also true (no disappointment from dad à I show my dad uncompleted planner or poor progress report à disappointment from dad). Near the end of middle school I was finally on my way to academic success.

I can honestly state that until midway through college, I never cared about my grades; however, I still did well. This is a result of the strength of my father’s reinforcer (approval) as well as my fear of disappointing him. I succeeded in high school and college for him. I want him to be proud of me but even more so, I don’t want to disappoint him. These two statements may sound synonymous with one another; however, the way I see it is that I always have a given level of “approval” from my father. Pending my actions, I can both increase that approval and make him proud for which he gives me praise or I can botch things up and make him disappointed. The important thing is that I can never make my Jewish mother mad… just disappointed.

Student- Behavior Analytic Autobiography

My Jewish Mother

Harry Beecher said, “There is no friendship, no love, like that of the parent for a child.” I truly believe this is true of my parents, even though there were times when their behavior presented as extremely harsh and relentless. When I thought more in depth about my parents and my history with them, I began to realize that I have always been out to please my father; my Jewish Mother.

My father grew up in Arvada, Colorado. He is the oldest of ten siblings, all presenting their own individual neuroses. My father, being the oldest, was shaped into an obsessive compulsive care-taker at an early age. He learned quickly that resources needed to be utilized effectively (e.g. each child being able to take a hot shower, or each consuming the appropriate amount of food), based on the feedback he received from his mother (his Jewish Mother!).  Even though my father only had three children (not 10), he still utilized these principles while raising us. In addition, he instituted additional rules of his own, believing they were in my (and my sisters) best interests.

One of my first memories is brushing my teeth, while watching sand pass through an hour-glass. This was one of my father’s first rules: my sisters and I had to brush continuously, for three minutes, every morning and evening. My father used the sand timer, because we could not manipulate it (press buttons), once it had been set.  If his supervision was needed, to ensure that our toothbrushes were continuously moving, he had no problem sitting on the toilet seat (arms crossed, and eyes fixed). In his opinion, dental health was not something we should joke about.  I agree with this position now, and am happy to report that I (or my sisters) have never had a single cavity. Related to brushing were my father’s rules about acceptable foods. I had intensive orthodontic work completed as a child, and my father would always restrict sticky candy and biting into apples and pizza crust (among other things!). Still today, even though I know that my teeth can perform properly, I slice apples and us a fork and knife when eating pizza. I still fear hearing the corrective words, “Shouldn’t you cut that?” or “Should you be eating that?” As a result, I religiously brush my teeth at least twice a day, for three minutes. I know my father is no longer waiting outside the bathroom door to check the timer, nor is he at the dinner table with me watching what I eat (and how); but the behavior still maintains.

Next, I remember the scheduled homework time I had. Whether I was completing a math assignment, or defining spelling words, if I requested help from my father his first response would always be “Look it up,” or “Try again.” Not until he could tell I was really struggling, would he provide a hint or assistance.  Therefore, even as an adult, I always reread, retry, or look up additional information on the task that I am having a difficult time with. I feel as though I have not put forth my best effort, if I haven’t tried every avenue on my own, before I seek additional assistance. This has no doubt, turned me into an overachiever and perfectionist. Also supporting these feelings were my father’s responses to report-cards. It was unlikely to hear only, “Good job, I’m proud of you.” Typically what followed was, “Five As, but why the A-?” I know it wasn’t that my father was not proud of my work, but he always knew that I could do more. I think this had contributed to my constant drive for additional education. Somehow, I feel, if I am able to receive my Ph.D., I will finally hear only the words, “I am proud of you.”

I also remember completing chores as a child. More specifically, loading and unloading the dishwasher. My father would sit, or stand, in the kitchen observing every cup, plate, or utensil that I placed in the dishwasher. When I was finished, if the space was not utilized as efficiently as possible, my father would have me take everything out and try again. If he was not pleased after the second time, he would “model” the behavior for me. My father would also sit in the kitchen to observe me unload the dishwasher. He would inspect each item as I removed it (through his periphery) and make suggestions such as, “Wipe that off,” and “Put it in the correct drawer,” as I worked. As a child, I lived in fear of my dish week. As an adult, I live in fear of cleaning dishes when I return home, constantly obsessing over whether or not the large plate should go here (or there!). However, I must say that in my own home, my dishwasher space is utilized very effectively. I’ve also begun to train my husband on the appropriate location of items in the dishwasher, and that silverware should be head-up in the tray (which presents the question of whether I’m becoming his Jewish Mother?).

Another example would be that of the “grammar wizard.” My father has always valued appropriate speech and the correct use of grammar. Thus, when I was younger and used a word inappropriately, my father would start a tally. At the end of my statement, he would provide me with the results (e.g. “You used like inappropriately ten times during that sentence. Try again.”). I would then have to restate myself, using only correct grammar. However, despite the torture of having to repeat myself a number of times, I am grateful for his method. I have found that I do not use “um,” “like,” or “can,” when these words are not necessary. I also, on occasion, have taken it upon myself to record the incorrect grammar of others (e.g. colleagues) during a presentation run-through or other event. Again, this is another trait that I have inherited from my Jewish Mother.

Finally, I remember the “water,” and “light” fairy. The light fairy was the magical creature (e.g. my father) that would go around and count the number of lights left on in the house, in rooms that were not being used at that time (e.g. upstairs bathroom).  The water fairy had a different role, he observed the pressure of the water being used to wash dishes or brush teeth, and the length of time the faucet was left on. Both fairies strived to not waste resources (as my father worked for the Environmental Protection Agency). If wasted resources were observed, we were immediately corrected by “Turn that water down/off,” or “Go turn off the light show.” Often, I found myself cutting warm showers short following the bang on the bathroom door (after hearing, “it doesn’t take twenty minutes to wash your hair.”), or getting additional exercise from trotting around the house turning off lights. However, both are behaviors that I carry over into my life now. My house has its own water and light fairy, who meticulously watches for misused resources.

Revisiting Harry Breecher’s thought, that there is no friendship, no love, like that of the parent for a child, I in no way doubt my father’s love for me. In fact, I am forever indebted to him, for molding the adult that I have become today. If it wasn’t for my father, I may not be the motivated, dedicated, perfectionist that I am. If it wasn’t for my father, I may not be as successful as I am. Most of all, if it wasn’t for my father, I would not be me; I would not be a miniature Jewish Mother.

Kelly Stone-Behavior Analytic Autobiography

My Jewish Mother

I thought long and hard about my “Jewish mother.” When I think about growing up, I remember always having that strong fear of failure. The thing that I could not remember was where that fear came from. My parents were always very supportive of me. They constantly praised me. They always told me that I could be whatever I wanted to be. They were happy as long as I did my best. I was sure that I did not have a “Jewish mother.”

Then I got to thinking about who I was so worried about disappointing. The only person I could think of was my dad. I hated disappointing him. But why? He always supported me. He never criticized me.

He did criticize my friends, however.

My friend Sarah was a little boy crazy. She usually had at least two of them going at a time. If one broke up with her, she had a new one waiting in line. She could care less about school. To Sarah, school was just a place to meet more boys. Throughout our friendship, we were obsessed with boys. We were always on the phone with boys, hanging out with boys, talking about boys, arguing about boys, arguing with boys, etc. My dad hated Sarah. He always told me she would end up getting pregnant, drop out of school, and do absolutely nothing with her life. (It didn't quite happen in that order, but he was 100% correct.) He knew he couldn't keep me from seeing Sarah (we went to school together), but he definitely made his feelings about Sarah known. I stayed friends with her, but I definitely made sure not to end up like her. Today, she is 23 years old and in the middle of getting a  divorce, raising her 2 year old daughter, without even a high school diploma, and is currently unemployed. She is still boy crazy, and already has a guy or two on the side.

James was my first real boyfriend. My dad hated him. He too, was a loser. He skipped school. He smoked. He had no manners. He cursed a lot. He never took anything seriously. My dad could not stand even being in the same room as James. Every time James spoke, I thought smoke was going to start coming out of my dad's ears, like in the cartoons. As soon as James walked out the door to go home, my dad would start into me. “What could you possibly see in that boy?” “Don't you think he's a loser?” “I think he's a loser!” “How could you date him?” We did not stay together long, but to my dad I'm sure it seemed like forever. Again, my dad was right. James dropped out of high school in the 10th grade. He began drinking heavily. He did drugs. He sold drugs. He hung out with other losers. He got arrested. I have not talked to him in years. My dad could not be happier.

I met my friend Teresa in 7th grade science class. We were lab partners. We did homework together. We were in all the same advanced classes. We had friendly competitions to see who got the better grades. She wasn't boy crazy. She made fun of me for dating James. Actually, she made fun of most of my boyfriends. In high school we continued to have classes together. We were in marching band together. We became exercise buddies. She was polite and sweet. She was a very positive influence on my life, and my dad loved her. I was so proud to have a friend that my dad approved of. Teresa became my best friend. We are still good friends today. She is now a journalism major at Western Michigan University, and my dad still loves her.

I have known my current boyfriend, Tyler, since I started high school, and we have been together for five years now. Tyler is very smart. He is one of the hardest workers that I know. He was the first one of my friends to have a real job, and he has been working hard ever since. He now works construction, and someday plans on starting his own construction company, just like his dad. Most weeks, he works between 40 and 60 hours, then he comes home and does random odd jobs for my dad, my sister, my grandparents, our neighbors, and occasionally he even gets to a few chores around our house. Not only is he my family's “Mr. Fix-it”, he is also our computer and electronics “go-to guy.” Yeah, my dad loves him too! I never thought my dad would like any of my boyfriends. I just thought it was one of those father-daughter things. No one would ever be good enough for his little girl. Turns out, I was wrong. He was just waiting for me to stop dating losers!

Until now, I never realized how much of an effect my dad had on me. I knew he had a lot to do with making me the successful person I am today, but I had no idea why. Thinking back now, I see that his constant remarks about my friends made a lasting impact on me. Not only did I make sure that I did not become a loser like some of the people in my life, I also wanted to have friends who were not losers. I think this was a good move on my dad's part. He knew that my friends were a big part of my environment, and he wanted good, hardworking people in my environment. So he did what any good dad would do; he encouraged the good people, and discouraged the bad.

When I talked to my dad about this essay, he recalled a saying that his mother always told him when he was growing up. Immediately, I remembered hearing him say it to me as I was growing up.

“Birds of a feather, flock together.”

I hated that saying. He always said that when he was yelling at me about one of my loser friends. I would say something like, “just because Sarah is a loser, doesn't mean I will be too!” And he always came back with “well, your grandmother always used to tell me that 'birds of a feather, flock together.'” By that, he meant that only losers hung out with other losers. If I wanted to be a winner, then I needed to hang out with winners. Now I see that my grandmother did the same thing to him that he did with me. She is definitely my “Jewish grandmother.”