Same Old America; "Freedom & Opportunity"

Same Old America; "Freedom & Opportunity" August 10, 2009

I am on monastic retreat until the weekend, and have scheduled two reposts each day of pieces that some may not have read before. Comments will be off until I return. You might like peeking into last year’s Online Retreat

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Originally posted in December of 2007, and rather poignant, given the tenor of the times.

So, I had a doctor’s appointment this morning – or I thought I did. I made it to the 11AM appointment to discover that it was really a 1PM appointment, and it was for tomorrow…not today.

Since I was out, I decided to stop by the nail place and get them done – my big extravagance in life, and I don’t even keep them long, I just like them neat. The place I go to is a clean, quiet shop run by a large family of immigrants. Most of them speak some English, a few speak very good English, and they are lovely, soft-spoken and sweet people who make you feel very welcome. Accordingly, their shop is getting very busy, and the days of my just “popping in” without an appointment may soon come to an end, but I don’t mind. They’re wonderful and very hard-working; they take a lot of pride in their shop and their work and deserve all their success.

One of the reasons I like to go there – aside from all the rest – is because I am not a “chatty” person. If I can be quiet and not feel like I’m making someone uncomfortable with it, that’s a plus in my book, and in this shop, I can. But today I was looking all around, at the spare but lovely decorations, appreciating the very Chinese artwork and the beautifully decorated Christmas tree, the small American flag at the desk. It was very clear to me that this family – all of whom use “Americanized” names for business – is proud of and connected to their culture, and yet also enthusiastic about being here, and I got chatty.

“Can I ask, why here? Why did you come to America?”

As it turned out, the fellow helping me did not speak much English. He turned to his cousin, the receptionist, for translation, and I asked again.

“More freedom,” she said immediately, without first translating. “America has freedom.”

“Opportunity,” said the girl at the next workspace. “We can have small business and grow it and make bigger business. We can be anything.”

By then the receptionist had translated to her cousin and he had responded. He smiled hugely at me while she told me what he had said.

“America is a great country where we can use all our energy, all our knowledge, all our creativity. There is freedom.”

“Opportunity,” the other girl repeated. “Anyone can be anything, do anything in America.”

“Yes,” said the receptionist, who is pregnant. “My son can be president, if he wants.”

It moved me. I was very moved and thought about how we who are born here sometimes forget. And I was proud. I thought back about 80 years ago, to when my father’s people were coming over from Europe, to Ellis Island and thence to Brooklyn. Plasterers. Floor-layers. Car mechanics. Street musicians. They worked hard, too. Some of them owned businesses; some of them started unions and stood outside those same businesses…but they were all quick to become “Americans,” – they told Mama not to speak to them in Italian (and regretted it later); they Americanized their names to enter the marketplace. They were all working with the country, for the good of the country, and each had their place in the scheme of things. The men all served in the military, in WWII and after. And they all dared to dream and to grab hold of the promise of America, and to not let go.

It’s wonderful.

It’s wonderous.


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