I am an American Indian, born in rural Pennsylvania while my dad attended Penn State for graduate school in the 70s. He was accepted by all on campus, but encountered plenty of racism when outside of it, going to get groceries or go to a restaurant.
My dad played national level basketball in India (not a particularly impressive achievement in the 1960-70s) but it did give him the crack in the door to make friendships with non-Indian people around State College. It had fast become his first love in India and he was amazed at the access he’d have to courts once he moved here. He played basically any time he wasn’t studying and he credits it as THE reason he survived the first few years alone while my mom was still in India before he could get a job and sponsor her to come over.
He made friends, met families, ate midwest heartland home cooked food, started drinking socially, went bowling, played golf, and experienced so many other American cultural institutions because of the connections basketball provided him. More importantly, after my mom was able to move, this support system provided a lifeline which if she hadn’t had I’m not sure I’d have ever been born here.
Strangers to her (not my dad) would take her grocery shopping. They’d invite her over for tea and sit and watch American soap operas for hours without saying a word to each other. Because they couldn’t! They’d go for walks and my mom slowly learned some phrases and in a couple years she was a fairly competent speaker. She overcame her embarrassment of sharing Indian food (the strong flavors, the smell, etc) and invited friends for dinner. She said they sometimes barely ate any of it but they always smiled and were grateful for the invite.
She got a job shelving products at the local grocery store. There she encountered the ugly head of racism every day. But she always went back, day after day, held her head up and did her work. At first, co-workers started dropping the veil of hatred, then some regular customers. She learned that only intimate social exchanges change minds, but that they do!
My parents raised me informed by these experiences. They wanted me to be an American Indian, with both feet firmly planted in both cultures. My dad passed on his love of basketball (and sport in general) to me. But I was made sure to love cricket as well. Since my earliest memories, we celebrated Christmas. We also celebrated Diwali. There were no temples around growing up so we learned religion at home with my parents.
My parents always tried to make connections with other parents at school. A lot of times the parents sneered, my mom would still feel most comfortable wearing Indian clothes so she’d often come to the bus stop and that stopped a lot of other moms from having conversations with her. But she also made friends by reaching out. Our home became where my friends congregated after school, most likely because my mom always kept the pantry stocked with Twinkies, cookies, ice cream, chips, and soda or whatever else she needed to buy to bribe my “friends”.
Because of all this, I’ve always felt like I’ve known who I am and I have grown up to have great admiration for my country and proud to be an American. As I’ve become more self-aware that America’s diversity is its strength after college, each year goes by and I know that greatness is in this country.
America is great because we have African-Americans, Asian-Americans, Latin-Americans, AND the Americans that have been here for hundreds of years.
This is my America. Our America. The America we love.
I don’t really know why I’m writing this post today and if it makes any sense. But it’s helping calm my nerves today. I don’t want my love and faith in this nation to be broken tonight. Being American is my identity. I don’t know if it will be at the end of this election.
There can be two seemingly incongruous things about this nation we hold dear: 46% of the country is happy to be lead into a fascist, racist, misogynistic, dictatorial regime whose policies largely mirror those of the Taliban. It’s also true that we are on the precipice of electing a Black and Indian woman as our Madame President.
To close, on this past October 12, Hindus celebrated Dussehra. I’ll spare the detail of the reason for the celebration but it represents the victory of good over evil.
Today, I will celebrate Dussehra again. To my Surly brothers and sisters, I wish for all of us a Happy Dussehra tonight. I'll see you all at Chili's tomorrow.