WordSisters

Category: American Culture

  • Celebrating the Gift of American Citizenship

    Sometimes I get discouraged about trends in American culture and politics. But recently, I was privileged to be a part of a U.S. citizenship celebration that pierced my cynical armor and helped me remember that it is good to be an American.

    Arwa, a middle-aged Jordanian immigrant, brought a feast to the adult English language learners’ (ELL) class where I tutor. She had just passed her American citizenship test, and she wanted to celebrate with her classmates and teachers.Screen Shot 2014-04-17 at 10.53.18 AM

    Learning English is hard. Every time students open their mouths, they’re likely to mispronounce a word, mix up the tense of a verb (I has a cold), mangle an idiomatic expression (We make party for my son), or be misunderstood because their accents are so heavy. They’re subject to constant corrections. To succeed, students have to be thick-skinned and persistent.

    Steve, who teaches the class where I volunteer, sets a supportive tone. He leads the students in cheering and clapping for each other. They understand each other’s embarrassment, so they are encouraging and kind—no mocking.

    We are teaching American culture as well as language, so we try to foster acceptance of other people’s customs, too. Steve sets up teams so African, Central American, Asian, Middle Eastern and Eastern European students must interact with each other and take part in playful competitions.

    So when Arwa passed her citizenship test, it was natural for her to celebrate with her classmates. The other students know how hard it is to persist. Everyone is far from home and misses their family, their food and customs from home, and the ready access to people who understand their worldview. They understand what it means to let go of allegiance to a homeland and embrace a new country.

    Sharing food is the language we all understand, so Arwa brought chicken shawarma, homemade hummus, lemon yogurt from scratch, little buns with a Middle Eastern version of pesto, salad, brown bread, and banana chocolate chip bread. She also had chunks of ham, salami and bologna as well corn chips, snack crackers, flour tortillas and soda.

    I worried briefly about how her classmates would respond to the food. Some eat meat, some don’t. Some eat pork, some don’t. The only hiccup was that we didn’t have forks. I watched Arwa spoon yogurt onto the bread so I put a dollop of yogurt onto a piece of tortilla. Soon the other students caught on and did the same. The North Africans (from Liberia, Somalia, Kenya, Egypt) recognized and relished the food. The Thai and Hmong students sampled more carefully, but were complimentary. The Hispanic students (from Mexico, Cuba, and Ecuador) spooned food into the tortillas and rolled them up. Everyone complimented Arwa on the food and thanked her. We all clapped and cheered for her because she is a citizen now.

    Throughout the spontaneous party, Arwa beamed. She is so proud to be an American citizen. I don’t know whether economic opportunity, war, love, or religious freedom (Islam is the majority religion in Jordan and she wears a necklace with a silver cross) brought her here with her husband and two children. It’s not the sort of thing we ask about in class.

    One time I helped her study for the citizenship test. I’m sure many native-born Americans would struggle with the test, and at times, I wasn’t always sure of the answers. She told me that she’d been studying for three years—that’s almost enough for a college degree. How many native-born Americans would work that hard to belong here?

    Arwa is so pleased and grateful to be an American. Perhaps she values it more because she worked to hard to achieve it. In the face of her accomplishment and pride, my cynicism about America’s shortcomings fell away, and my faith in the American dream was renewed.

  • When did cell phones become a cure-all for awkwardness and boredom?

    I sat in the classroom feeling awkward. The students were on break—some of them chatting in Chinese or Spanish, a relief for them after the rigors of learning English. Others were stretching their legs. I had 10 minutes until class resumed and I was once again a tutor.

    I reached for my cell phone and began checking emails. Not that I was expecting anything important, and indeed, none of the emails required my urgent attention. But I looked busy. Important, even.  Anybody looking at me might have thought I had vital emails that must be attended to NOW.texting

    When did cell phones become a cure-all for awkwardness and boredom? Why did I succumb to the feeling that I have to be connected and productive at all times?

    Before I became addicted to my electronic devices, I could amuse myself if I had a spare 10 minutes. Instead of isolating myself from interactions by fiddling with my phone, I might have wandered around and talked with someone. Maybe not my students. They’d be polite, but sometimes they need a break from “Teacher,” as they call me. But I probably would have found someone from another class.

    Or if I wasn’t in the mood to talk, I might have gone for a walk. I could have quietly thought my own thoughts without needing to look busy. I might have sat in the atrium people-watching. The clothes, faces and manners of the new Americans who are learning English tell a story—something the writer in me finds interesting.

    Before cell phones became so widespread, I would have thought it was fine to spend time doing nothing much. If I really really wanted to be productive, I could have planned dinner and made a grocery list.

    But none of those options occurred to me, because without meaning to, I have learned to engage with my device instead of with people. And I’m not alone in this behavior. A recent study of college students in 10 countries found that they “literally didn’t know what to do with themselves” when they had to live without their smartphones and other electronic media for 24 hours. And Arianna Huffington acknowledged this issue when she issued her challenge to unplug for seven days.

    With my cell phone handy, I don’t have to risk the slight discomfort of exchanging pleasantries with people I don’t know. I can talk with people who are far away, but I’m less likely to connect with the people close at hand.

    My phone rewards me with a sense of purpose—fake busyness in this case—but it helps me pass an awkward or boring moment. And it’s always there. Somehow I’ve let myself get sucked into feeling that because I can be connected, I must be connected. Really? Why? I didn’t need to know right that minute that my online order had shipped or that a blogger I like had posted something new.

    Don’t get me wrong–I’m not getting rid of my cell phone any time soon. Cell phones have vastly improved many kinds of communication. But I do want to restore my ability to cope with boredom and discomfort without resorting to my phone. I do want to be more mindful of the ways cell phones can isolate people instead of connecting them.

  • The Unintended Consequences of Random Acts of Kindness

    My 91-year-old Mom has an old green bomber jacket she wears for quick trips to the store.  The color is scuffed off of the elbows, and the knit cuffs and waist are pilled. The jacket isn’t good enough to wear to church, but it’s too good to throw away. And she likes it, or at least she did until the other day.

    She was checking out at the grocery store and the clerk had bagged two small sacks, when Mom realized she didn’t have much cash with her. Even though Mom had several credit cards in her wallet, she didn’t think to use one of them—to Mom, grocery shopping is a cash operation. Flustered, she told the clerk to put back one of the bags. She didn’t have the money for both.

    As she was walking out, the woman who’d been standing behind Mom in the checkout line caught up with her and handed Mom the second bag of groceries. This generous middle-aged stranger had paid for them. Mom managed to thank the woman, but she was mortified.

    Mom’s convinced that the well-intentioned stranger saw an old woman wearing a ratty coat and concluded that Mom couldn’t afford to buy groceries. Mom has a comfortable income, so the idea that she might seem in need of charity was profoundly embarrassing to her. Mom gives generously to charities—she’s accustomed to being the giver. She’s not supposed to be the receiver. She’s proud of being in good shape financially.

    My sister and I suggested other possibilities: Maybe the stranger was just being nice—everyone’s had the experience of coming up short at the checkout. Maybe the stranger was just trying to spare Mom the hassle of a return trip to the store.  Maybe Mom reminded the woman of her own mother.

    Mom was unmoved by our explanations. She doesn’t want anyone thinking she’s poor and feeling sorry for her. She’s shopping for a new winter coat she can wear to the store.

    * * *

    I had a similar experience when I was shopping at the farmer’s market. I was debating whether or not to buy my collie a smoked dog bone. I’d picked up and put back several bones while the vendor was selling me on the merits of his smoking process. I concluded that the bones might be too splintery for my dog and decided not to buy any.

    I felt a little bad about wasting the vendor’s time, so I stupidly said I didn’t have that much money with me, and the dog didn’t really need the bone. I wanted to move on and figured the vendor couldn’t argue with that explanation. But another shopper overheard the conversation and insisted on buying the $2 bone for me. I tried to refuse, but she said she wanted to treat my dog. So I let her give me the bone. I didn’t want to squelch her generous impulse. Better to be gracious. I’d get over my embarrassment.

    Those random acts of kindness—moments of pure generosity—had surprising consequences. Instead of being pleased and grateful, Mom and I felt stupid. Embarrassed to be seen as needy. Guilty that we’d contributed to the perception. We’d expected to be the givers, not the receivers.

    However, when I’ve truly needed help—say when a stranger helps me jump a dead battery—I am grateful and delighted that the world has such good-hearted people in it.

    I still like the idea of random acts of kindness and want to be more open and accepting of what the world sends my way.

    cosmic smooch
    cosmic smooch