Proud to be an American

We spent the night in a nameless ordinary hotel. Sometimes the ordinary is followed by the extraordinary and we are surprised and delighted. This was the case yesterday.

I'd never been to a citizenship ceremony before so I had really no idea what to expect. Our beautiful Luana had studied, made flash cards (besting her friends at American facts), and taken her citizenship test. now the moment had arrived for her to take the oath; to swear her allegiance to the USA. Was she nervous? Did she feel like a traitor to her home? How did her family feel? I was abuzz with the questions and she calmly stated that all was well on all counts. This was right for her and for her budding family. We felt the excitement.

I had shopped for all things American, not easy to find in the middle of February. The local party store offer up sequined tiaras, flags, bandannas, Uncle Sam hats, leis (red, white and blue of course) stars and stripes sunglasses and flag wrapped mints. I bought some of everything! She was delighted, donned the tiara, waved the flags and posed in the parking lot of the USIC building for a pre-ceremony picture.

We moved inside with a sea of what looked like a cross section of the world. Women in flowing Arab garb, dark exotic-looking turbaned men, Asian people of all colors, small laughing children and the rest of us moved through security into a holding room. Everyone had papers to present and a few last minute details to take care of and then they, the almost citizens, were ushered into the ceremony room.

We followed and were seated in a room wrapped in red, white and blue bunting with our flag proudly displayed above every thing else. My throat caught as I looked at our grand-darling quietly taking it all in. She is the perfect mingling of the genes, of course, I am biased. She won't remember the day her mother became a citizen of this great country but we who were there will weave into our family lore like a colorful comforting quilt. Each home country was recognized, 45 in all. All the right things were said by the emcee and then it was oath-taking time. Our son moved into position to record the moment. His father, his brothers and I listened as they spoke their names and promised to defend the United States with all their might. Karaoke-style we sang the "Star Spangled Banner" and said the pledge of Allegiance. The real weeping moment for me was a video of American scenes with background music. I guess it was the music. Lee Greenwood's "Proud to be an American" does it to me every time. I don't know why, but it does. "From the lakes of Minnesota to the hills of Tennessee" is the lyric that pulls at my heartstrings because we are the Hills of Tennessee. Funny. It occurred to me yesterday that my homesickness for those hills for all the years we've been North Carolina transplants, is pale in comparison to those in the room who are so far from their homeland. They, these newly minted Americans, are now our sons and daughters. They come to us from many lands and rich cultures. I wondered about all these new citizens. What were there stories? I wish I'd had the time to ask, but we raced from the room to the parking lot for more pictures and then to a celebration lunch.

That the lunch was a Mexican feast struck me as funny! Maybe it should have been hamburgers or some other American dish, but she wanted Mexican so Mexican it was. I've always joked that she is my most American child. After all, her favorite meal is the Thanksgiving meal. She claims that she dreams about the meal in November for weeks before we actually eat it! We even had it in May as a welcome dinner for her Brazilian family when they came for her wedding. There is nothing like the smell of sage, onions and roasting turkey with the a/c running!

We were not complete yesterday. A few of us were missing, but there is a cake with red, white and blue frosting in the freezer for the next time we are all together. The most important thing she said to me yesterday was to freeze the cake for the next "family" get together. Eat the cake we will. This American family knows how to celebrate.

Home

You tell me your stories and I'll tell you mine. Isn't it bizarre the way we'll strike up a conversation with a total stranger and before the coffee has a chance to chill, we've shared a slice of life?

We had just sat down to have a drink on the deck of the big ship when a burly young man joined us. You do that on a cruise. He was a roadie for a band whose groupies were ever present. He told us his stories about the endless driving, travel, long hours, no sleep and how he missed his mama and daddy. We laughed and told him our stories about our kids and their antics. We even told him about the dog (ours) who ate the bag of weed that had been left behind by a college student (also ours) and how she (the dog)was depressed but very hungry afterward. I thought that he might pop a gut laughing. That story will probably be repeated up and down the east coast forever.

That same night we sat next to a very athletic as well as attractive young couple at dinner. Married for three years both in the banking industry, I thought that they'd like our kids since they were so like them; young, attractive, athletic, hopeful, you get the picture. Two days later after several chance encounters and a few drinks with them the talk turned to children. I asked if they wanted to have kids. The young woman looked wistful and said that, yes, they would and in fact had had a son who'd lived for just two short days. He was born too soon and didn't survive. She went on to say that it had been a year that week and she'd been given the go-ahead to try again. That was the impetus for the cruise; to try again, but not to forget the first. She had done a little sun-bathing that day to build up her vitamin D . Behind the wistfulness in her eyes was a faint whisper of hope. I promised to pray for them by name. Explaining that the way I pray is not for the outcome, but rather for the good to come from the journey and the strength to handle what might come next. I pray for grace, peace, health and happiness.

While Gene slept one morning, I ventured alone to the dinning room for breakfast. Feeling very alone, I wished I'd brought my book to hide behind. I shouldn't have feared being alone, however, because I was whisked upon my arrival to a table of older ladies laughing and talking like old friends. I apologized for crashing their party, but was quickly informed that they weren't old friends at all ! Seated next to a sweet-faced lady, I ordered a hearty breakfast and begin to chat with everyone. The lady next to me was a Hospice nurse, I discovered. She was widowed, having nursed her own husband through pancreatic cancer. After his death, she sold the house and moved to the warmer south. Her two sons visit often and she had grandchildren she loved dearly. Again, I noticed something, but couldn't quite place just what. We talked education, politics and the getting older factor. As we stood to leave, she confessed that she hadn't told the whole story about her children. There had been a daughter, gone now nine years. No, she affirmed, you don't ever get over "it"; you just go on and embrace the new normal. "It" happened when the girl was just 18 and full of college dreams. The night before the move to her new campus home the girl and a friend were busy driving around town saying good-bye to their high school friends. Her mother asked her to stay home and get her things in order and the girl promised to do so, but oh just one more good-bye, please. Mom relented and never saw her girl alive again. A car accident; the girl never knew what hit her. The friend lives on in a semi-vegetated state/limbo world in a facility in town. My sweet-faced new friend smiled and bid me a good morning and moved on to find her companions. We didn't meet again, but her story touched me because back home a dear friend of ours is this week in a courtroom facing the monster who killed her child after his afternoon of golfing and drinking. My heart hurts for them. My prayers are for them; peace and grace.

There were other stories heard as well as told last week. Many of them have already faded in my memory, but those two stories of lost hope clutched my heart. I wanted to swim as fast as I could to the solid ground where my children and grandchildren were breathing, laughing and just being. I wanted to hold them, smell their sweet scent, and tell them again and again how much I love them.

I expect never to cross paths with anyone I met last week. The world is a big place and even though we shared a small space in time, the space opened and we spilled over the land and moved on to our home place. I will pray for all of them.

Tonight I did touch, smell and love at least three of our kids and three of our grand-darlings. We handed out the gifts and shared a meal. We Skyped with the one lives far away with the other two grand-darlings. For a slice of time all of them filled our home again with their laughter. My heart filled and my prayers were answered. They are safe and happy.

Tell me your stories and I'll tell you mine. My heart is open and waiting.