There I sat in the corner of the room, green-eyed. Here was this bronzed goddess, with perfect teeth, long golden hair, and a tan to die for. She was full of confidence. She came from California.
I sat pallid, covered in makeup, attitude, disdain, and insecurity secretly stashed away in my heart, exacerbated by her perfection as she smiled along with all my other friends who grew up in London. I could not stand Americans.
I landed in San Francisco by default. I was traveling from Canada to Australia on a quest to work around the world. Australia said, “No return ticket, no visa.” San Francisco said, “Sure, here’s a six-month visitor’s visa.”
It was not an easy transition. It was not helped by the numerous times people asked me which country I thought was better. It took me many years to understand that comparing countries was a futile exercise, as the history and topography are so different.
Still, year after year, I began to experience the American culture, and allowed my ignorance and bias to be chipped away. It took me another 26 years to embrace America as my own.
My transformation started as I was driving through the Nevada desert to Las Vegas. I was in a fairly new car, but was terrified it would break down and then what! My thoughts turned to the many immigrants who once traveled across this desert in wagons—immigrant families, facing the hardships and terrors of the unknown.
I had a sudden epiphany. Americans come from a lineage of people who are full of adventure and courage, have faith in themselves, and harbor hope, even in the unknown. The American Forefathers and Foremothers had blazed a path for us all. This land is big and this land has promise in its dust. This was a turning point for me, and my heart fell in love with these boisterous and courageous people, a people who dare to dream.
My son took part in Little League baseball, and his coaches were Native American. We all stood for the national anthem at his first game. The sun was low in the sky. I noticed a halo around one coach’s long dark hair and broad shoulders. For the first time, with my hand on my heart, I falteringly sang the words of the national anthem. A tear ran down my face.
It was a profound moment to be with the native people of America, these people who welcomed me and taught my treasured son how to play baseball. We were loved.
When my children became teenagers, I decided I needed a college degree. It took me seven years to complete my degrees. As an older student going through an American education, I discovered that American pedagogy built up my confidence. It encouraged me to explore and confront ideas. I was shown that my voice was valid. It was an empowering experience.
When I graduated, I decided to take myself on a celebration trip to New York. New York was magical! There was a pulse, innovation, an entrepreneurial camaraderie, and an unspoken understanding among the hard-working people of every nation. It was full of energy. It was America.
Books and ideas have always been important to me. On my wanderings in the city, my eyes alighted on the history of the New York Public Library. In 1906, the people of New York noticed that immigrants had no access to books written in their own languages. Concerned about this, the forefathers of the library system imported books written in other languages from all over the world. They didn’t censor these books; they wanted the people to read. They believed in the people, and their freedom to think.
My heart rose up. I would fight for this country. Freedom is true diversity, for all people to think and debate and choose for themselves. I suddenly knew in my heart, I am an American.
I took my place to stand among 1,107 faces, as diverse as the 101 nations we represented. The ceremony for the naturalization of new citizens bestowed on us great honor. America opened her arms to us to call us her own.
After the ceremony, we signed up for our American passports and registered to vote, and then we new citizens poured out of the doors of the Oakland Theater. We tightly held our naturalization papers, and looked boldly at each other. We all shared a deep and common joy; we were one. We celebrated the miracle of being accepted into this country, a country made up of people from many nations, ruled by a Constitution that grants liberty, freedom, and a chance to succeed. We knew we would always be proud to be Americans.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
