11.05.2008

That Girl Abbey Meets America : An Unofficial Reflection of November 4th, 2008

Been up all night tonight. Had no intention of the perpetual thinking and watching and rambling, but one seldom does. Just me, in my little house, in my tattered gray sweatshirt and favorite pink cotton panties, sipping tea and thinking in my little office. Thinking thinking thinking. My best friend once told me that I never turn off. I fear he was mostly right.

Tonight was a big night for my country. Listening to President-Elect Obama address his nation for the first official time brought me chills-- the kind that keep you up.

I have never felt patriotic or particularly "American." When I was in England I wanted to morph into one of them, with their fantastic accents and charming self deprecation and endless appreciation for what is old and true. I have lived in different American cities and towns and found the prevalent characteristics of "American" to be somewhat disappointing. I noted Greed, Arrogance, Consumerism. I have read Fitzgerald, Twain, Hemingway, Orwell, Angelou, Vonnegut, Feminist lit, Post-Colonial lit, Chicano lit, Jewish American lit. I have been bewildered and envious of the passion and conviction they express when exploring the issues of nationalism, the body politic and cultural identity.

I have passionate and progressive friends and neighbors who have causes. Sadly, I admit, I have opinions. Strong, serious, committed opinions. But, they're still opinions.

This muddy "Abbey as American" mess is not a new thing.

I grew up with African American families, Jewish families, Greek Orthodox families, Chaldean families, Chinese families, Muslim families, Indian families. Since I was a little girl attending an extraordinarily diverse public elementary school outside Detroit, Michigan, I remember realizing "I'm just white."

For this, I was jealous of everyone. In high school my Greek Orthodox friend and my Jewish friend informed me that they were always jealous of me and my "normalness." It wasn't until I had spent two years as a Humanities major in college that I began to strip away the meaning of "normal." It's a horrible word.

(Sidebar: By my third year as a Humanities major in college, I was riddled with white guilt, white embarrassment, and white apologies. How does one not sweat reading passages from Cherokee leaders walking the Trail of Tears or diaries of Japanese internment camp victims? Ugh. White white white. Injustice-perpetrators. Oppressors. Hypocrites. Not all of us, obviously (then or now or ever), but there was no class called "What Whites Did Right", I'll tell you that much.)

If we want to get technical, seeing that there isn't a "normal" box on surveys and medical forms, I'm Irish, Polish, German, French, and a drop Native American. I was raised Roman Catholic, though my father was raised Lutheran, and I no longer align myself with any particular denomination of organized anything.

If we want to get literal, I'm a pale, blue-eyed blond. And if we want to get frank, I'm just a white mutt.

My brother has great pride and connection to our home metropolis, Detroit. I love the Tigers, but I must be honest and admit that I have little connection to the city.

Although I love being a Buckeye and adore just about everything Ohio State, I can't pretend to "bleed Scarlet and Gray" like my peers. It's just not in me. I love it, but it isn't an identifying aspect of how I see myself.

Some of my extended family (and immediate) have a prevailing pride of being "a Cleland." I've never fully understood this one, either. I am capable of saying that I'm proud of members of my family, or some of the things that we believe, but I can't get away from one fact: I didn't earn "being a Cleland." I was just born into it. If I was a part of another family, I'd hope I'd be happy and proud there, too. Does this make any sense?

I'm not totally void pride. (That would make me a pretty fabbbbulous person, no?!) I just get proud of other things. Like: "I'm so proud for my wonderful friend and her accomplishments and contributions to whatever" or "I'm so proud of how my brother has grown into such a kind and insightful person" or "I'm so proud I finished that blasted crossword puzzle."

I guess what I'm getting at (or not getting at, as it so appears) is that I have never personally experienced a first hand, genuine, unforced feeling of identity pride. I've been walking around America thinking "I'm an American because I was born here. Why would I have such pride for a happen chance situation?" Though I have undeniably been truly grateful that I am an American citizen, I don't ooze pride about it. I think a lot of other places are pretty good, too...and what if I had been raised in their culture with their ideals? Maybe I would fit in just fine. Hmmm. This has shifted.

Tonight, for the first time in my life, I have emotionally (not cognitively or logically or vicariously) understood what it's like to feel patriotic. I feel proud of the progressive, intelligent, and enlightened decision our citizens made tonight in electing Barack Obama as our next president. I feel hopeful and well-represented and all warm and fuzzy.

I feel proud! This is new!

I think this must be a twinge of what so many of my other American neighbors and friends have felt for a long time. Maybe a twinge of what the suffragists and abolitionists and visionaries and progressive minds of our past have felt. It was probably buckets of this pride and hope that called them to action. And for the twinge I have felt, I am so grateful. It feels good to be proud to be an American tonight. "My people" you know, the Irish, Polish, German, French, and a drop Native American (you know, the "whites"), well, a lot of them have been waving American flags for a long time, and I don't know why exactly I didn't truly get it during my first twenty-three years, but I get it now.

Don't worry, your resident analytical cynic will probably return soon. But, maybe this twinge of pride Americana could stick around and help influence some of my opinions. And maybe, eventually, one of my opinions could become a cause, and I, too, could contribute to making others feel proud.

In the meantime, I'm going to find one of those itty bitty flags and put it somewhere in my little office. A subtle reminder of my newfound claim of my sprouting American self.

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