Two Words, Happy Meals!

Two Words, Happy Meals

                             Two words, happy meals. My childhood consisted of them, and I'm one of the lucky few who didn't grow up obese due to my fast metabolism of eating fast food so frequently. My family and I would go out to McDonald's, Wendy's, Chinese, restaurants, anything fast food related. I don't remember about my parent not making food throughout the day, but it was more like a pleasure to eat out than to cook. Personally the toys in the happy meals drew me to eat out in McDonalds.

                             Up until I was thirteen I grew an interest in watching the news frequently, there they would speak of the dangers of fries, and how they contained cancerous chemicals. Once I knew that I would only order a Big Mac and I would give the fries to my parents. I look back at that time and think that fries werent the only danger, but everything was. Fast food industries have been accused of using car chemicals and formulas to draw in customers just by smell. I don't feel like it affected me in anyway now but I wouldn't have hurt to know before.

                             My history with fast food has been interesting I suppose. I use to eat it way more often than I do now. I wouldn't care if it was healthy or unhealthy all I cared was for me to eat the food that I really enjoyed.

                             When I was fifteen I got my first job at McDonalds, I worked there up until I was a senior in High school. Every break that I worked, I ate a meal there, since their policy was to give us a free meal every working shift. At the time I was careless because it was my lunch at work since I didn’t take any. I wouldn't think about the harm it can cause me, now I don't really eat McDonalds, having to eat it for so long makes me baby barf by just smelling it. I may eat other fast food but I've tried and stayed away from it, from any fast food. Now that I'm older and have a better understanding about fast food industries I try to stay away as much as possible, there

are some occasions where I have my guilty pleasures but I tend to get a healthier fast food if that's the case.

                             Not too long ago I started working on a new project, my physic. I've always weighed under 120 pounds and I'm trying to build muscle and bulk up. I'm not taking any supplements, just a lot of protein. I’ve heard drinking Creatine and Protein shakes just leave you fat when you stop working out, so I took a couple Health courses in College and researched to find out that eating the right foods can be just as good as anything other supplements. Now I tend to eat a lot of peanut butter, greens, fruit, chicken, and red meats all throughout the day, and snack on nuts. I have gotten into the habit of reading food labels to see how much protein that curtain product contains. Who knew I’d be one of those people I judged so much at the store when they would carefully read everything for health reasons. Everyone needs some sort of good change.

Living On The Edge

             I’ve grown up fearless and with no hesitation of doing something out of the ordinary. Most are afraid of death, but someone like me likes to live on the edge to feel alive, well then that can be a fun ride. As a child I dreamed of adventure. Growing up I watched Bear Grills on television trying to survive in the wild with only what surrounds him. Movies like “Into the Wild” also influenced me to take that leap of fearlessness to achieve an untold story. My senior year of high school I did nothing but travel the world. It was coming to an end but for some odd reason that wasn’t enough to pleasure my adventurous needs. So I made a trip that would change my life and the view of life.

 My father owns an old cabin very near Oregon’s tallest mountain, Mt Hood. Oregon is better known as the “beaver state” The differences between California and Oregon are drastic. California’s environment is mostly sunny coastlines, dry weather, and many fertile central valleys. Then you have Oregon; very wet, freezing temperatures, and magnificent colors on the country side. Green from the pine trees that surround the homelands is a spectacular sight. Everywhere you turn there seems to be pine trees. Cold fresh air, so pure and relaxing. My father’s cabin on the tallest mountain in the state would serve as my shelter for one week. That is where I will put my skills, mentality, and endurance to the test.

The cabin I was going to stay was no luxury. It was built twenty years ago with no maintenance. My ideal plan was to stay for one week by myself. I was mind boggled of how I would even ask my parents for permission to stay in a dangerous environment like the cabin. One night during dinner I asked for permission. I sat nervously while my parents looked at me in utter confusion. My face remained completely emotionless until they started a racket about the dangers and life threating environment. Just as I imagined it would go. As a few weeks passed my dad simply gave me permission by saying, “you are lucky enough to see it still stand today due to the harsh conditions it’s gone through.” I finally had his and my mother’s blessing to go forward with this new adventure. I have no idea what I was going to expect but that was the thrill I was looking for.

After two weeks pass of planning, learning basic life surviving techniques, riffle experience and there I am, sitting nervously in the airplane seat near the window. A few people beside me talked about the frigid weather that awaited us all, for a split second I felt fear of what the unexpected was ahead of me, but all I had in mind was the unsteady jolt the airplane makes and it lifts to the sky. As the roar of the airplane increased, I felt goose bumps crawl over me. As soon as it reached the horizon, I saw the bright colors of the sun tumble. I felt at ease, and awaited my arrival anxiously.

I arrive in Portland, Oregon, where I would meet my uncle to drive me straight to my destination. There was no time to waste and I was ecstatic to be there already. It was a two hour drive to my new home for the week. All throughout the way I thought to myself, why. Why did I have to choose this out of anything else to test my manhood or to prove myself that I am a strong independent man that can take care of himself and to make an interesting story about it? Well here it is. My first stop was at government’s camp, a local town five miles away from MT Hood. There I gathered a map, books, cleaning supplies, and a small amount of food for a couple of days.

I reached the trail, where I had to walk another mile to find my new home. The sun was out shinning bright, but none other than an optical illusion, no warmth, just a chill breeze, making it hard to walk from all the energy loss my body was doing by shivering to maintain and create warmth. I felt paranoid walking alone on this unknown path. At the beginning of the trip I never thought of the real challenges that I’d facing myself with. I started to doubt myself, worried about how dangerous this actually was, I stopped and thought about turning back. I argued with myself, debating to go back to my warm house in California where the sun actually gives warmth. I told myself if I didn’t see the cabin in another ten minutes of walking I’d go back. Two minutes pass and there it is, my home for the next week. Wishing I hadn’t told myself that but it was needed for me to continue walking.

It looked nothing like the nice cabin I had imagined, it was far worse. It resembles the shed in my uncle’s yard than a cabin. The only thing nice quality about it was the door and steel on the windows that will prevents anyone from breaking in and making it their home. I opened it, and to my surprise it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be but not the best either. There was wood already chopped so I could start a fire.

As soon as I saw the sun go down, I felt fear rise in me. It was the first time I’d spend the night alone, not only alone but far away from tourists and people. I had thoughts of someone breaking in at night while I slept, or a pack of wolfs would come surround the house, or a bear knocking on my door asking for honey, I was going crazy at this point. I distracted myself by starting to clean the barrels of the Remington 721 rifle my uncle gave me used. I slowly started to daze into sleep to the warmth and crackling noise of the fire I had lit.

A few days passed and it was Wednesday, there were only three more days till I returned home to my parents and to my old habits. I was exploring the river near me, trying to figure out how to fish, but as fun as it was there I remembered the rumors of wolfs and bears lurking in the area. I heard a crackling noise and I felt my heart drop. At that instant as I tried to look around my surroundings to see what was around me but then my right foot felt in between the dam I was near. It was stuck! I panicked so bad I began to cry and to yell for help. I felt hopeless. I pushed tree limbs and branches to get my foot free from this dam I was helplessly stuck in. As my leg began to feel numb, I unloaded my gun to use it as a tool to help me get lose, I stuck the barrel into the snow as deep as it went and I pushed myself up. I soon realized that I could easily get lose but the numbness on my leg caused by the cold of the snow made me think that I was more trapped than I thought. Again I tried to pick myself up. Soon enough I was up on my feet trying to get my blood flow moving.

Just to think that I was out of the red zone, it was far worse, blood. I had a cut in my leg that ripped my calve. I couldn’t stand to look at it. I limped all the way home and poured hot water into it to clean it. I had cold sweat and I felt knots in my head and all over my neck from being a nervous wreck. It was getting dark and government’s camp was only five miles away, but with a deep cut and snow it feels twice as long. I wrapped my cut with an old shirt and stood by the fire till morning came. Fearing hyperthermia or a fever I kept myself hydrated fed by eating crackers and walking around the fire. In my mind this trip was over.

I woke up the next day feeling sick and weak. I was glad to know that today was the last day of this adventure I so longed for. I remember thinking that I just wanted to go home, eat a good meal, and get treated for my fever and wound. Getting out of this cold and back to my California warmth was something I longed for since the first night I arrived to this cabin. I am soon going to be home doing the same things I would always do with no difficulty like what I experienced in this cabin. My life is a luxury and I want it back.

Oregon has made me realize that there’s more to explore outside of one’s home. It makes me speculate what other places are similar to Oregon. Traveling to Oregon had shown me views of a diverse environment and its customs. It’s truly a magnificent place to visit. The magnificent purity, mountains, nature, and surprises have broadened my outlook on life. One thing for sure, Oregon is a safe haven to escape the bustling Californian life, but will I ever do something as dangerous as that again? Who knows, maybe with some company to share a different story? For now I think I’ll wait a while. 

Fernando

This reminds of my first assignment in elementary school, when I had to ask my parents why my name was given to me and research what it meant.  When I was born my mother named me after my father, Fernando Mendoza. They both come from a Hispanic culture and it’s sometimes tradition to be named after one’s dad at birth, but my mom claimed that wasn’t the case and simply liked the name.

            The Dictionary meaning for Fernando is “adventurous” and “Brave Traveler”. The denotation behind my name fits into my life style of exploring and living dauntlessly. However having a Spanish name sometimes has its downfall. Dave Mosher’s ideas in “Easily Pronounced Names May Make People More Likeable” are about having a pronounceable name that makes a person easier to like you. That was never the case other than people wanting to call me “Francisco” or “Nando” for a short or easier way of pronouncing my name. I never understood because to me the name “Francisco” can be interpreted in English and Spanish as easy as it is to pronounce mine.

            My dad’s family has a Spaniard origin, so our last name Mendoza comes from Spain. It’s not a common last name and everyone in my family take pride for us being a big family. Although I wasn’t given a middle name, I would have liked one.  I remember growing up with so many people that had a middle name that I felt left out for some time wishing I had one. My answer to those who asked why I didn’t have one was simply that one wasn’t given to me. If I had to choose to get a middle name the following day, it would have to be Cam. It doesn’t really have any remarkable meaning to it, I just like to keep things simple and short.

            Many people have told me that my name doesn’t fit my appearance. When someone hears my name they expect a Hispanic that speaks Spanish but as soon as I’m seen I’m like a polar bear that belongs in Antarctica. If I had the chance to change my name I would kindly decline the opportunity. Although my mom claims my dad wasn’t the reason for my name I was glad it was. He’s always been my role model growing up and I only learned from the best. Even though I learned to like it throughout the years I don’t think I’d be naming my child that. I enjoy short simple names with the best last name I know out there.