The Moment I Knew I Was An American...

It’s kind of a funny prompt to give kids living in America dontcha think? To anyone living outside the United States they’d think it was the day we were born, but for those living here want to be something else, strange huh? For example, if you asked a group of kids “what’s your nationality?” very few answers would be American; they would be Polish, Italian, Irish, Mexican, and Chinese, almost anything other than American.

If you asked me, I would say American.

My family has been here, in Chicago, since the 1800’s. Before that? Wisconsin. Before that? Canada. To claim to have strong ties to another country would be ridiculous. My family jokes that we can choose to be who we want, my Grandma Ray’s family was Irish, and lived there a long time ago, she had red hair and so did I when I was little, I chose to be Irish. (Don’t get me wrong, there is Irish blood in me somewhere, just not in the past century.)

For a school project I had to find out exactly where I came from, as far back as I go, I chose to ask my Grandpa Ray. I was at his house and I said “Grandpa, what am I?” he simply said “You’re an American.” This obviously wasn’t the answer I was looking for. So I said “No, where is your family from?” he said “Chicago.” Again, this wasn’t the answer I had hoped for. I tried again, “Grandpa, you have to be from somewhere other than Chicago, so where?” he said “Wisconsin.” I eventually got the whole story, and realized that the question “what are you?” should be answered with “American.”

I knew I was an American the day I was born, but never truly found out until my Grandpa told me, and ever since then, I have always answered American.