And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry,
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp And then to the university,
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.
Life in America is often depicted by the calm, uniform suburbia filled with the perfect family, living in the perfect house, with their perfectly behaved children and mediocre jobs. It is this sentiment that inspires many migrants to become Americans and pursue this American dream. It is this same sentiment that confuses many of my friends when they find out that I’m a third generation American, and still don’t have my white picket fence house. My American culture is vastly different than what one may find in movies. My American culture has subways, fast food, and most importantly, diversity.
To be honest, my American “culture” is not one that I welcome openly. Yes, I am grateful to be living in the land of the free, however, I can’t help but find myself feeling sheltered and uncultured in comparison to those around me. In fact, I often find myself feeling jealous of my peers when they recall tales of life in their home country and traditions that they share. But perhaps the BIGGEST discontent that I’ve had with my Americanized lack of culture is the food.
I’m a foodie. I LOVE food. Spanish food, Thai food, Middle Eastern food, Italian food. The thought alone is enough to make me salivate. However, when I think of what a cultural American dish would be, the first thing that comes to mind is McDonalds. Excuse me while I have a heart attack from my Big Mac. Sure, Americans have apple pie and cracker jacks, but where is the substance? I want some platanos y arroz con pollo. I want some curry chicken (mild of course, because I am still American).
It is for this reason that I’m glad that I don’t have the ideal American dream home with a big yard in suburbia. I’ve grown quite content with my tiny apartment in Queens, if anything because of its diversity. In fact, the closest McDonalds to my house is about a 25 minute walk away. In the distance between, I can find numerous Spanish restaurants, pizzerias, Chinese restaurants, and even a buffet. But besides the food, my “bootleg American dream” as my friends call it, is filled with storefronts and activity. Even late at night, the community has its night dwellers, looking for an adventure. No, my American dream might not be as fancy as depicted in movies. And it may not be as exciting as the cultures of those around me, but it is all I know.
Ridgewood, taken from the very train station I visit every morning before school
