My first day of school in America consisted of two tests; the FCAT and an English-language comprehension exam. My English test entailed a few things, one of which included identifying and describing different holidays based on pictures.
Obviously the picture of a decorated pine tree and boxes of presents was supposed to be Christmas, and the one with bunny rabbits and decorated eggs was supposed to be Easter but, “What in the world?,” I asked myself, was the picture of fireworks and the American flag supposed to be? New Year's? There were hot dogs in the picture.
“Do Americans eat hot dogs on New Years?,” I asked the instructor.
“No,” she replied laughing, “but I wouldn’t expect you to recognize the Fourth of July--you aren’t from this country!”
I moved to the United States when I was 12 years old. Born in Hyderabad, India and raised in Ontario, Canada, I had a unique perspective on America. Nervous, afraid, naive and inexperienced, I expected my time in this new country to be brief. Convinced that my parents would see the light of reason and move back to Canada, I awaited our return impatiently.
This feeling of nostalgia was further exacerbated by the lack of mutual understanding and respect I felt from my fellow classmates. I could not go a day without someone in my class making a joke about my nonexistent accent, or laughing at the way I pronounced Arkansas (are-can-sis). On the other hand, I couldn’t bear the thought of being in a room full of Americans; people who owned a gun for every room in their house and ate Twinkies for breakfast. Clearly, I had no idea what Americans were like and they had no idea what I was like.
I moved to America during one of its hardest times, and that’s what made me realize I belonged. The 2007-2008 financial crisis put a burden on every person living in this country, which in tandem, showed our nation’s fortitude. I would listen in class and watch on the news about how grim our economic outlook was; yet in the same vein, how we could rebuild.
I still remember my 7th-grade teacher’s comment one day in Current Events: “That’s the American way. Rebuild. Rebuild. Rebuild.”
As the years went on and my parents didn’t move, I suddenly began feeling like this country was my home. Keeping in touch with my friends from around the world, I slowly realized that my mentality was made for America; to work hard, push forward and succeed on my own terms. I began to appreciate what America had to offer, and accept all the opportunities it had to give. Soon, I felt the camaraderie that is felt by all Americans, and began accepting America as my country.
My first Fourth of July here was in 2010, and as I stood in a crowd full of people, I reluctantly chimed in on the chants of “U.S.A! U.S.A!” I felt a little guilty--did I have the right to be chanting with the others? Did I deserve to be wearing red, white and blue and eating hot dogs with everyone on the beach? And if I did, would I be turning my back on the other countries that I belonged to? No, I ultimately decided, I wouldn’t. The fact that I wear red, white and blue and love this country doesn’t diminish how I feel about the others, it just means that I found another place that I love. My love for America doesn’t lessen my love for my forefathers’ culture and nations; it just expands the amount of culture that is included in my life.
Many people say that America was made for Americans, but I couldn’t disagree more. Unless you are an immigrant, or child of immigrants, it is incredibly difficult to fathom what America represents. When I asked my father why he moved here, his answer was simple. “This is the country of opportunity,” he said, “when we came here, we knew it was going to be hard, but it was worth it. You are guaranteed a good education, you are guaranteed structure, and even if you aren’t guaranteed everything, you are guaranteed the opportunity for everything.”
I think my dad summarized it pretty well--people today who come to this country know that its entryway isn’t gilded with roses. They know that to make it here is just as difficult if not more difficult than making it anywhere else. But they also know that, more than in many other places around the world, who you are is not based off of what you were born into, but what you make of yourself. You may be hampered by circumstance, but you are not resigned to it. For those who have been born into the luxury of freedom, it is difficult to explain how cathartic this privilege is. This nation isn’t perfect--no nation is--but its strive for freedom and its unwavering determination to be the best is what makes the USA the beacon of light for people all over the world.
So on the Fourth of July, as I stand proudly on top of a table chanting, “U.S.A! U.S.A!” at the top of my lungs, I represent the truth; this country is unlike any other. I am proud to be in it, and every day I am blessed to live here. Happy Birthday America, I pray that you continue to offer opportunity to those who deserve it, and work hard to keep us free. God Bless the USA.
