Yes, I am Greek and no that does not mean I am in a sorority. That’s a misconception I have been hearing a lot since I have gone to college. However, there is a big difference between the Panhellenic and Hellenic lifestyles; while sorority sisters and fraternity brothers pledge to always stand by each other, we Greeks pledge to always stand by gyros and baklava (totally kidding ... well, kind of). Of course the delicious Greek food is a plus, but there is so much more pride and love put into this intricate culture than what meets the eye.
Yes it is true: We do roast lamb on a spit during Easter, and its intestines are usually served as appetizers (my grandfather used to indulge in the eyeballs). It is also true that we throw money at people dancing during parties (we Greeks really do make it rain). Can’t forget that those who consider themselves to have a “small” Greek family typically have about 15 first cousins (who share a grandmother that stuffs food down their throats then lectures them about watching their weight). While these norms may scare a foreigner, these are the things I have grown up with and would not change for the world.
I come from a fairly large family. Although there are a ton of bonuses, there is one big downfall. Toula, from the movie "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," had a point when she said, “Greeks marry Greeks to breed more Greeks,” but when your family is the size of a small village it is very possible to find out that the super-cute Greek guy you’ve been dating for a couple months is actually your fourth cousin (I’d be lying if I said this hasn’t happened to me before). Consequently, this makes a thorough family tree check a necessity before any first date.
During my childhood, I spent 2,392 hours in my local church between Greek school, Sunday school, Greek dance practice, choir practice and Greek Orthodox Youth Association meetings. Although I replaced memories of selling Girl Scout cookies with memories of scary Greek school teachers, every single Greek can agree with me when I say, it was worth every torturous second. Being handed my Greek School diploma meant ditching the itchy uniforms and saying goodbye to wasting my Saturdays doing Greek School homework forever; 13-year-old me thought this would be the best day of my life. However, what 19-year-old me realizes is that without the education of this beautiful culture, I would have never grown to appreciate our distinct traditions and close-knit Greek community.
Although my teachers and peers conclude that my long, unpronounceable last name means I am a gyro-loving Greek, and Microsoft Word views my last name as a “fragment” that I should “consider revising,” truthfully my last name is a perfect reminder that I come from the most amazing country in the world, and I could not be more proud.
