I am a writer — most of what I write is for academic journals of which only a few people in my field read. To maintain tenure at the university at which I teach, I must be published. Over the years, I have been encouraged by colleagues, friends, and family to write a book. Because I do not believe I would have anything new to contribute in my field of expertise, I remain hesitant to add one more book that would say much the same as all the other books on the market. I am testing the waters, not so much with my academic knowledge, but with my writing skills — to learn if anyone is interested in reading what I write. And, so, I have titled my blog, “Musings”, as I will write about nothing in particular.
Thanksgiving Musings — my family has always put great emphasis on this All American holiday. We have so much to be thankful for and, although mostly mythological, there is some historical accuracy to the first Thanksgiving. Each year we would share stories, sometimes debate those stories, of what might have actually happened, why it happened, and what the significance of sharing a meal with those who “are not like us” means. The first Thanksgiving was celebrated with the natives of our great land, and the first immigrants.
We are all immigrants, or the descendants of immigrants. My parents were born in Ireland and immigrated to the United States as young children, along with their parents and some of their older siblings. Unlike many, if not most, immigrants of their era, my grandparents were adamant that their children and, subsequently, their grandchildren not lose their native tongue. We are all fluent in Irish, as are many, to a lesser extent, of my nieces and nephews. With each passing generation, the language is becoming lost to our family.
As we shared our reasons for being thankful this past week, it became evident that each generation is thankful for different things. I am thankful for the importance of God in my life; I am thankful for my Church and the community that it offers; I am thankful for my family who are my support and who love me unconditionally; I am thankful for my immigrant grandparents who insisted that their children and grandchildren be bilingual which, in turn, enabled me to more easily learn more languages; I am thankful for the freedoms we have as Americans, that have been hard fought by generations of soldiers; I am thankful for the life God has led me to lead — to serve my Lord, to attain an extensive education, to have the opportunity to share my knowledge with the incredibly awesome intellectual minds of my students. I am thankful.
As I reflect on all that I am thankful for, much of which pertains to my being an American, I cannot help but wonder how our Native people feel about their past, their history, their land being, essentially, stolen out from under them by the white man who thought he was superior. I am Irish by blood. My heritage is not much different from the Native’s. Our land was stolen by the British. My ancestors were forced to learn English, to make it their native tongue, to lose their Irish heritage. My ancestors were made to be tenets on their own land, they were starved during the potato famine, they were not afforded quality health care when they became ill due to horrendous living conditions, they were “slaves” in their own homeland — oppressed by the British. Our Natives have been oppressed by their conquerors. After their land was stolen, they were forced to learn English, the children were sent to boarding schools to be taught to assimilate to the American way of life, they were forced to become Christian and to leave their native religious rituals behind — they were oppressed by the white man. The white man who was, most likely, British. Hmm . . . Do you see a trend?
And, in the beginning, they shared their farming knowledge with their future conquerors, they shared a meal in celebration of that first harvest, they were kind to the immigrants. The Natives did not ship those first immigrants home, those immigrants who would eventually ship the Natives to reservations. Several of the students I have taught over the past 30 years have been immigrants — most from countries in Central and South America. Many of those students were brought to the United States when they were young children. By the time I have them in my classroom, they have lived in the US longer than they lived in their native lands. They consider themselves to be American. The caveat is that many are undocumented. Because of that little glitch in their “right” to be in this country, many of our citizens believe these children, and their parents, should be shipped back to their native countries. Do we, as a nation, never learn? Must we continue to be the conqueror? Must we continue to be the oppressor? I learn as much from my students as I hope I teach them. Their thirst for knowledge, their intellect, their hope for a better future than their parents could attain, the richness of their different cultures — all creates beautiful human beings that offer so much to our “melting pot” society.
My prayer is for a country that is no longer polarized, a country where we are ALL treated with equality, a country where our immigrants are welcomed and their skills are utilized in a friendly atmosphere, a country where we all love one another as God loves each and every one of us.
MUSINGS 