I was enjoying a sunny day at University Village this past weekend. I hadn’t been there in a long time, and it’s something Kat and I like to do spur of the moment – go someplace new.
It was a grand time, and an interesting one, too. The place was packed with shoppers and college students, this being the closest shopping mall to the University of Washington. As such, there is an eclectic mix of people there, from the young at heart to the just plain young.
Kat had to make a quick trip into Teavana, which is not exactly my, well, cup of tea. So I sat outside, holding on to her impossibly heavy grilled ahi cheese sandwich remnants from the RAM and a bag of sweet nothings from Victoria’s Secret that cost three times the lunch bill.
While I’m still not over the fact that a single bra can cost $56.00, on sale, I can say I learned another valuable lesson about myself and our society while waiting there for Kat.
As I said, there was a broad mix of people at the mall. I really started to notice it once I tuned into people’s conversations as they passed by. Yes, I’m a bit of an eavesdropper; it serves as fodder for many of these RobZerrvations. As I tuned in, I became aware of all the languages being spoken by groups as they passed: Chinese, Japanese, Pakistani, French, Spanish – a veritable United Nations strolling by.
For a moment, I found myself becoming angry about it all. “They’re in America now,” I told myself. “They should be speaking English.”
And then I caught myself. I’m not very racist and I certainly don’t have any hate for immigrants. Part of the reason for this, a large part, is that I am only a second generation, born-and-raised American on my father’s side. My grandfather was an immigrant, as was his wife. They were of germanic descent, immigrating from Odessa, Russia because of the Russian Revolution. They came to America in the early 1920s.
They came to America not knowing the language or our customs. As I was growing up, I often overhead my grandfather and grandmother talking. They weren’t speaking English. They were speaking German, their native tongue. It was just easier for them when they were together.
It’s not that my grandfather couldn’t speak English. He did just fine in this regard, albeit with a rough German accent, and he owned a successful dry cleaning business in Vancouver, Washington. His customers all spoke English and grandpa had no problem keeping up with them in the language department.
But when he was on his own, alone with my grandmother, he naturally went with the native tongue he knew best.
As these various groups passed me at University Village, I discovered that I wasn’t mad because they were speaking in their own native languages, I was mad that I couldn’t understand what they were saying because I was sure it was about me. 🙂
It was then that I started to laugh at my own stupid ethnocentrisms, built around the fact that I was still mad that I could never understand a single word my grandparents said to one another and it had obviously been all about me too.
I realized as I sat there that I should have really become part of the world years ago and become at least bilingual, if not multilingual. We live in one big international economy these days, and it just seems stupid to speak one language.
I have often wished that I had continued to keep up with my Spanish studies. I took three years in high school and was pretty fluent. Even in later years, if I had a margarita or two, I could order dinner for 10 in Mexico in fairly good Spanish, the waiter being kind enough to let me do it, especially since he could speak English just fine.
The thing is, knowing more than one language is pretty normal for people from other countries. Almost all business is conducted in English around the world, and English is the standard language for airline pilots and air traffic controllers.
One friend of mine can speak five different languages, three fluently, two she can make her way through it. Most of us Americans can barely manage one, and we don’t even do a good job at it at that.
Yet, here we are, demanding everyone else speak English in the U.S., even though most of us are just like me, descendants from immigrants, who had to learn a new way of life, and often, a new language. These folks don’t want to take over our damned country; they simply want to have a chance at the American Dream, and really, what’s wrong with that?
The thing is, we don’t need to hide behind our fear, or try to justify our own ethnocentrisms while bashing others who are still are still trying to figure out what it means to be American. Why don’t we stop playing the white man pity party and show these newcomers what it’s like to be an American through out actions, deeds, accomplishments and words. Set a good example for these folks; don’t create separatism through vilification and downright hatred. That’s not what our forefathers (also immigrants) fought for.
That’s not who we are. We aren’t haters. We are a nation of immigrants. Unless you’re full blooded Native American, don’t you dare try to maintain that your ancestors weren’t immigrants. If you insist on going there, just stop reading now, remove me from your Facebook friends and let’s just go our separate ways. You’re not smart enough to get most of what I write anyhow.
Being an American is messy. It’s not one size fits all. It’s not us vs. them. It’s us, this glorious melting pot of cultures, people and opportunities. Don’t build walls at a time when we should be building bridges in a world that has changed. We’ve already seen where all this inbreeding has led us. Let’s try to open our doors and our minds to others who want to experience the tremendous freedoms, and shoulder the awesome responsibilities, we all do as Americans. It’s our right and it’s our obligation.
In the Emerald City, looking for your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
– Robb