Some of my most vivid memories from my childhood deal with smell. My dad dousing himself in Brut spray and my mother patting Johnson’s baby powder all over her body. But whenever I would come back from a white friend’s house after many hours, I would notice a strong, peculiar, and suddenly foreign smell in my house. What was it? Do I smell like that? Is this the smell people talk about? The Indian smell?

I like  “the Crevecoeur myth.” To be free of old ideas and stereotypes, to reinvent oneself, or to “reinvigorate” old ideas- I agree with Gerstle that this great American promise of freedom is ideal.

When I read about the interactions of Irish and African Americans in the northern states of America, I could somewhat relate to the Irish not wanting to be stereotyped into the lower working class lump with African Americans. I despise being stereotyped. Stereotypes rid me of my individuality-my personal wants, desires, reasons, and opinions- and conveniently and superficially lumped me into a group people assumed I belonged to. So as the Irish ran away from the “sensuous” yet “wholesome” but undoubtedly black group they were pushed into, I ran away from the familiar and comfortable but undoubtedly Indian stereotypes that I was being pushed into.

Since I was four years old, people have always asked “What to do you want to be when you grow up?” Before I could enthusiastically and happily answer, they would add “Doctor right? You want to be a doctor?” Then I would always say quietly, and dejectedly “I don’t know yet.” It was true that I wanted to be a doctor but I hated that people assumed. I didn’t know to explain it then but I felt like it took away from my freedom and individuality. Later, I realized that people assumed this of me because I was Indian. Like “Oh, she’s Indian so she has to want to be a doctor. Her parents must be forcing her or she’s just mindlessly following the path of success.” In actuality, my parents have always told me that I could become anything I wanted and it’s always been a dream of mine to be a part of Doctors Without Borders one day. But the stereotype followed me and I continued running from the truth of myself. For years, whenever people asked, I would say “I don’t know” or if I liked the person who I was talking to, I would say something interesting like “Maybe journalism. Christiane Amanpour is my idol.” I reached a boiling point in high school, though. Once, a history teacher was trying to make an example, and he chose me. He started with the worst opening line to my ears: “What do you want to be? A doctor right?” I snapped. I quietly, but obviously with an attitude, said, “I don’t know.” He continued, “A lawyer?”

“I don’t know.”

Someone in the back of the room jokingly called out, “Feisty!”

“You’ve got to want to be something?”

“I don’t know.”

He moved on, but I crept even further into my shell of denial and I kept saying “I don’t know” for a few more years. Why all this fuss over what I’m supposed to be? Because I’m Indian? Yes, that apparently dictates my whole identity. Forget my opinions and reasons. Indian. That word was the answer to any and all question about me.

Ultimately, I agree with Gerstle about the coercion to be less ethnic and therefore more American. I smell it in how I put on deodorant or spray perfume every morning.

-Christina John