Scrolling through the 932 songs on my iPod, about half of my music is sung in a language other than English and my Top 25 Most Played playlist includes artists from Italy, Columbia, Korea, Albania, Armenia, Romania, India and Israel. Sifting through the contents of my fridge, there are leftovers from my favorite restaurants: Thai Noodles, Shawarma, Spanakopita, Pizza, and Chicken Curry. Anywhere else in the world, my taste in music and the contents of my fridge would seem bizarre and/or cause instant indigestion, but here in New York ethnic food and music is just a part of everyday life.
Our acceptance of and appreciation for other cultures is not at all surprising considering that everyone I know can trace their roots back a few generations to an immigrant from some corner of the world. It is because of this that I think that a purely American nationality does not exist (with the exception of Native Americans of course). To be an American, more specifically, to be a “New Yorker” is to have no national identity: to be caught in-between worlds.
Nowhere else in the world will you find a more diverse mix who is both aware of and proud of their cultural heritage. The mentality of immigrants today has dramatically changed in the last few decades and the pride felt by the American-born children of immigrants towards their culture of origin is a relatively recent phenomenon. The abilities of immigrants and second generation Americans to speak other languages and practice the traditions practiced in other parts of the world have become skills to be coveted, opposed to things to be ashamed of.
In preparation for tomorrow’s in-class presentation, I spoke to my Grandfather on my mother’s side and my Father. Both were born and raised in the USA but have radically different perspectives towards their respective heritages. The contrast in beliefs between the two second generation Americans who are only one generation apart is, in my opinion, fascinating.
My grandfather, whose mother and father were both immigrants from Lithuania, was raised to “become an American.” Instead of embracing his heritage, his parents pushed him to assimilate and were sure that only English was spoken in the household. Lithuanian culture and tradition were completely abandoned. He adopted the “American Dream” as his own and became an aerospace engineer and worked for Nasa.
My father, on the other hand, was raised completely differently. His mother and father, who were both immigrants from Sicily latched on to their traditions and never let go. They both named and raised their children according to tradition. Named after my grandfather’s father and mother, my father and aunt learned the Sicilian dialect as their first language and spent every Sunday morning in church and every Sunday afternoon at their grandparents house along with their nine aunts and uncles Gandolfo, Jimmy, Michael, Robert, Rosa, Gandolfa, Gandolfa, Josephine, and Gina and seven first cousins Salvatore, Salvatore, Angela, Felicia, Felicia, Lucia, and Joseph.
Today, my grandfather and father behave exactly how they were raised to. My grandfather hosts barbeques on the Fourth of July and my Father makes the best stuffed shells in the family and continues to visit his mother, aunts, and uncles every Sunday. In the long run, I think my dad is way better off and way more American.
The differences between the citizens in this country is what makes America so great and draws so many different people to come here. The best part of living in New York for me is the fact that everyday I meet someone who is completely unique. There is always something new to learn, a new food to try, a new lifestyle to be exposed to. The great thing about our generation, in spite of its many pitfalls, is that we are much more open to other cultures compared to the generations before us. While neighborhoods in the past have been very culturally specific, I think that, in a few decades, that is going to change. The definition of “American” needs to be redefined from WASP to include everyone who lives, works, and contributes to the American society and economy not just the brandy sipping, wine swirling, White European elite. To be an “American” is to be an immigrant.
