Week Five
dedicating this Fourth of July post to my two day ones (soz, Aleca, you’ll get a post someday, maybe)
IN:
eating a hotdog with ketchup (no mustard, nothing else idc) (tbh the hotdog is mainly a vehicle to eat ketchup)
Delicious Orchards (especially their eclairs)
overusing em dashes (idc if it’s not grammatically correct — it feels right)
cleaning up garbage that you see at the beach, even if it isn’t your own
Old Navy American flag shirts (specifically those from the 1990s but alas)
being first-generation American / having immigrant parents
OUT:
my plants dying on me but magically coming back to life if my mom waters them (or even looks at them)
plays or musicals that are longer than 1.5 hours
fireworks (yawn, boring, and they scare dogs — so miss me w that)
men who wear short socks/no-show socks (should be a punishable offense if I can see your ankle bone)
pinched nerves in your neck (relax!!!!)
needing to be perfect (working on this one, bear w me)
BFFR:
In: being first generation American / having immigrant parents
Well, I said I was dedicating this week to my two day ones, the reason I am here, and I meant that. Mom and Dad, buckle up, this one’s for you.
In 1992 two “kids” in their 30s with a bloody revolution recently behind them and a three-year-old in tow (shout out, Aleca, 1989 revolution-baby) chose to leave their entire families (and trust and believe it’s a big family, a huge comfortable safety net that even I have trouble parting ways with when we go back to Romania on vacation…) and start anew. These crazy kids said let’s go to the one place we’ve always heard is the place where hard work and perseverance (and a dream) can get you further than anywhere else*. They left Romania for America and their immigrant parent personas were born that day. The rest is history.
My history at least!! Because ding ding ding [insert alert emoji and a parade of cheers] the birthright citizen writing this post was born in the US of A quickly thereafter to those two Green Card-holding kids. And you’re welcome America, because this shining star is thriving here babyyyy. Imagine this country without me??? Shivers. Birthright citizens goddamn rockkkkkk.
Being a first gen kid, with parents who effectively learned the language and customs of the country alongside you is/was quite the experience. And it’s not one I would ever trade for anything else in the world. Honestly, for those of you without immigrant parents, I’m sorry. I really am. Because they’re a goddamn hoot. You really never know what to expect. They’re constantly keeping you on your toes.
Cursing in English??? Oh my god how dare you! A child that has no respect! Cursing in Romanian? Go off queen! Let it off your chest! Not taking tennis seriously enough? Slacker. Lazy. Will never achieve anything! Not having a glass of red wine with dinner at age 12 because “it’ll make the steak taste better”? Loser. Lame. Just try it! Don’t know the capital of every European country when you’re randomly being quizzed on geography questions in the car? What are they even teaching you in school! Having to do your math homework by taking 40 mins to “show your work” rather than just getting to the answer? Really, what are they even teaching you in school!
And don’t get me started with what I can only assume are the Romanian-isms that they brought here with them. Like, Ferrero Rocher only for special occasions. Nutella sandwiches for school lunches (even if I was bullied for it for years — you bullying-losers really thought a pb&j was better than Nutella? BFFR). Spanakopita with coins in it for the new year. Smashing eggs together for Easter. And more traditions and superstitions galore to share with everyone and anyone willing to listen and follow the lore (pls stop whistling in the house, you are losing money). I can’t imagine an American life without it all.
I will say, one snag our family has run into is that we all get almost every single American idiom wrong. We weren’t raised saying “bring a horse to water” or whatever tf it’s supposed to be (or even mean). So miss me with that — and if I get them wrong, don’t be annoying and correct me, just let it go.
But that small oversight aside, really, immigrant parents are elite. Mine have made me who I am. My Dad may be the smartest (but also somehow the funniest) person I know (don’t tell him I said this, he subscribes, so he’ll read this, but still he’ll probably hate that I’m even mentioning his existence). And my Mom is somehow both so incredibly sweet and caring and could talk to absolutely anyone about anything ever, yet she can also be so cutting and protective that if you cross her family, she will be sure you know that’s not a boundary you’ll ever get passed unscathed. I am the best of both of them.
I mean as I write this, my Dad is typing away on his laptop too (on his week off, mind you) making sure his patient’s charts are updated and everything is in order for them all (he, unlike me, cannot make the joke that “we’re not saving lives here” when the job gets too hard). And my mom is watching Wimbledon (I told you tennis can’t catch a break in this house) and she’s just sitting here talking to us/herself/the TV while we ignore her (I’m actually so her-coded, it’s starting to scare me). Unregulated work ethic + a yapper even if no one is listening = B.
They’ve taught me so much (including being fluent in a romance language, which really helped me in AP Spanish and my Spanish classes at NYU so tysm guys), and have given me so much, that I obviously feel like I won’t ever be able to ever repay them. But hey, maybe this super cool Substack post will compare to them leaving their families behind, with their child and two suitcases, so that Aleca and I could have more than they did.
I think that’s why I’ve always loved the Fourth (putting aside my odd obsession with the Declaration of Independence, Constitution, and Molly Pitcher since childhood — I’m a lawyer for a reason, people), because I know a little bit about what sacrifice for a dream means due to those two crazy kids. I was raised to know what it means to take a big risk and step outside of your comfort zone for the chance at something greater — that belief in something bigger out there waiting for you. That if you just work hard enough “The American Dream”* would pay off and be achievable for you and your kids and you wouldn’t have to lose your own valuable traditions, customs, and norms along the way. There has always been space here for both cultures — both sides of me. That is what the Fourth is about and why it’s one of my favorite holidays. To me, it’s a celebration for people like my parents who sacrificed so much and worked so hard to make it here — an opportunity that we should be continuing to give to as many people as possible; people who are already braver than most and willing to take that first, daunting, scary leap. People taking a scary leap approx 250 years ago is why we’re all here! It’s our country’s foundational understanding; the fabric of our Nation’s founding. It’s the most American thing in the world to be an immigrant and/or raised by them, and for that I am forever grateful, and incredibly sorry for those of you that will never experience or fully grasp how wonderful it is.
So, forever and always, thank you Mom and Dad…and Happy Fourth!
Xx,
B
*Side note, I do believe this Dream was real in the 90s, and much more possible then, but unfortunately I’m not quite sure it still is anymore, so I am sorry for the glorification in this post of an American Dream that so many can no longer achieve due to outside forces who lack empathy and a system that is now unrecognizable. This horrific shift is not of my own choosing or liking, so hopefully, someday we can revive the Dream and restore what really makes us great. And let’s never forget the other lesson my parents taught me that I mentioned in last week’s post, “freedom and the fight for it are interconnected.”
P.S. everyone pls eat a hot dog with loads of ketchup on it for me today, thanks!
Deep Cut: Our House by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
A song I will learn to play on the piano if it’s the last thing I do! But also, the perfect American Dream song to me. The goal of how simple and lovely life can and should be.
From another Eastern Europe immigrant - loved your perspective!
This is so beautiful B. I love those two crazy kids, too!!!