My father was born in Ohio... a native of the U.S. But his father was born in Poland.
My mother is a naturalized citizen of the United States. That means she was born elsewhere (Israel), and had to pass a test in order to become a citizen.
So, that makes me 1st Generation American on my Mother's Side, and only 2nd Generation on my Father's. That's what I grew up with... lots of family members from "the old country", grandparents and many other relatives with thick accents, who talked about the old country and went back to visit when they could. Sometimes relatives from the "old country" would come to the U.S. and visit.
My mother's cousin came to Chicago (from Israel) mid-winter, and hadn't brought a winter coat. He didn't understand the brutality of a Midwestern Winter. So he headed for Marshall Field's... (remember them?)... found a great Winter Coat and started "negotiating" with the sales clerk, over how much he was willing to pay for the coat.
The sales clerk insisted, the coat was "clearly marked"... but my mother's cousin was used to a sales system, where you "bargained". Believe it or not, after a crowd of people had gathered around, a floor-manager at Fields, gave him a discount, just to get rid of him. We were all flabbergasted.
On my wife's side of the family, however. .. her family has been here in the U.S. almost all the way back to the Mayflower. Generations after generations after generations. We don't even know how many generations. In fact her family has been here in the states... (or colonies) so long, that they had family members who fought on both sides of the civil war. When we used to travel with her parents, we always went out of our way to visit cemeteries, and pay respects to family members.
I have trouble identifying with that concept... of having deep, deep, roots. Much of my root-age, is still planted overseas... but hers go down to the bedrock here. Her mother's family were early members of Congregation Mickve israel in Savannah (one of the oldest synagogues in the entire U.S.)... my father's family had a supper club in Akron, Ohio.
Her family fought on both sides of the Civil War. My father's family fought amongst themselves.
We have tin types of her relatives, and furniture with marble top that has generations of names carved on the back. My family has Polaroids of uncle Maurice in his bathing suit, and an old sofa in the basement that has stains on it, from some unknown source.
Generations of differences here.
My family arrived in the U.S. to escape the global conflict of World War II. Her family arrived to escape the inquisition in Spain.
Generations. Happy fourth of July. Let freedom ring.
Alan...
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