Voices in My Head
American. Please Do Not Ask Me Where I’m From.
American. I am an American. Please do not ask me where I’m from. I am about as American as you can get; born and raised on the star-spangled banner, the pledge of allegiance, Superman, and someone else’s American History.
Editor’s Note:
This essay was first published last October 2018. In light of the recent hysteria surrounding immigrants, walls, hate, and fear, I thought it would be important to revisit it. American born and naturalized citizens are often challenged as to their citizenship. Somehow, their only distinguishing and different feature is that they don’t look like the challenger. Possibly the solution should be that we wear a bright small American flag decal on our outerwear or have it tattooed on our forearm to remove any doubt.
American History
We are the greatest country in the world. Ever. That’s what you taught me. Pushed it into my head and my heart and made sure that I saluted it. Whitewashed the history books so I couldn’t read or hear the truth of where we other Americans came from.
My father was born in Puerto Rico and Puerto Rico has been a part of the United States since 1898. Citizens since 1917. My mother was from the Dominican Republic and became an American Citizen. I’m scolded that this country isn’t Puerto Rico or the Dominican Republic. This is America. Thank you for the geography lesson.
American English
I was born in Lincoln Hospital in the South Bronx of New York City in the New York State of the United States of America. Last time I checked the South Bronx is a part of America making me an American. Yeah, but you say not a real American. Not like the Ryans and the Colangelos and the Johnsons and Smiths. They were here before you were. Their families came in 1920 or 1930. Not like your father’s family who have been part of the United States since 1898. And they speak better English than you do.
Well, Bronx English. The music of our Spanish words soon became the marching sounds of English in the Bronx staccato of fast-talking vowels and the consonant smashing rhythms. Cut off ends of words because we’re talking too fast in fast-talking New York City. We smashed Spanish and English together and out came Spanglish because we didn’t have time to separate them and anyway no one wanted to hear what we said.
Original Americans
You and me are not the original Americans. You now say but we’re all American so no need for identity politics. Right. Tell that to the Irish-Americans, Italian-Americans, Jewish-Americans, Polish-Americans, German-Americans, and all those other hyphen Americans who celebrate their holidays in their New York neighborhoods.
We all saw Dick and Jane run. Not Ricardo y Juanita. We were raised on meatloaf, spaghetti, pizza, corned beef and cabbage, mashed potatoes, and surplus American cheese, white bread, and Campbell soups. But still had time for Arroz con Gandules. Tostones. Alcapurrias. Cuchifritos. Mofongo. Pernil. Pasteles.
Looking American
We wanted to be like all the other kids who did not look like us. Everyone in our neighborhood, our history books, on TV, in the newspapers. We watched black and white TVs with white cartoons and silly white clowns and white children programs that painted white kids and white lives. We could watch them as long as we behaved and no one was a juvenile delinquent with switchblades in their pockets or wore loud colored shirts and tight pants and pointy shoes and slick hair and everyone knew their place in the projects and no one tried to sneak in some Spanish or Spanglish or whatever the hell they were trying to speak spic in the corners of the playground or in the comfort of their homes. The black-clad catholic nuns made sure of that. You’re in America now they would remind the children and their parents. We speak English here. If you want your child to grow up like good Americans you better know my history and my geography and forget yours because that is not what America is about.
We watched black and white TVs with white kid cartoons and silly white clowns and white children programs that painted white kids and white lives. We could watch them as long as we behaved and no one was a juvenile delinquent with switchblades in their pockets or wore loud colored shirts and tight pants and pointy shoes and slick hair and funny little hats and everyone knew their place in the public housing projects and no one tried to sneak in some Spanish or Spanglish or whatever the hell they were trying to speak spic in the corners of the playground or in the comfort of their homes. The black-clad catholic nuns made sure of that. You’re in America now they would remind the children and their parents. We speak English here. If you want your child to grow up like good Americans you better know my history and my geography and forget yours because that is not what America is.
But I didn’t listen. I love the diverse tapestry of America “Oh, beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain! America! America! God shed his grace on thee, and crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea.” It has a certain ring to it those words that denies the history of the genocide of the people who were here before and those after who were dragged here against their will or the history of people who come here desperate for freedom, throw themselves on the shores of America the Beautiful grabbing on for dear life so they can live a dream away from a nightmare but only find instead the unwelcome mat. The truth is they will become more American than the Americans who are already here. Because that’s what those people do.
American has always been about throwing everything into the mixing bowl that is America and all our children and our children’s children will add to the mixing bowl that is America until it’s one big feast of music, food, art, culture, language, clothing, faces, ideas, America.
I was born in the South Bronx of New York City in the New York State of America. I have lived American all my life, I speak American, I eat and dance American, I look in the mirror and see American, I am about as American as you can ever get.
Photo by PeterThoeny
