Traveling abroad in America...

When I was in Chicago, I heard the most beautiful line I have ever heard a person say. It was after the show, and my friend and I stopped by a party celebrating his other friend's father's 50th birthday. (Got that?!) It was straight gorgeous, set up in a tiny backyard filled with beautiful flowers under tents with colored lights strung above and picnic tables below. By the time we arrived, it was already one in the morning, so only a few people remained, sitting around the table talking. His friends, being from Poland, were speaking Polish. So I decided to talk to another of his friend's father about life in Poland. It sounded wonderful, though different. He told me that were it not for economic factors, he would be back in his home country. When I asked him why, he said because people are nicer there. I probed him further. For example, he stated, in Poland, if you want to see your friend, you just go to his house and knock on the door, any time of day, and you are invited in. It's a real community. That sounds nice, I thought. As I continued talking to him, his son- my friend's friend- suggested he tell the story of him and his wife before they got married. Well, I love hearing romantic stories- I am just a girl, after all- so I asked him to tell me.

He related that on one occasion he had taken his future wife to the disco. However, having looked at the bus schedule wrong, he did not notice that the buses do not run on Saturdays. They were 10 miles from home, and it was late at night. So, they started walking. A few miles in, she became tired. Well, it was my fault, he said. I checked the schedule wrong, so I took on that responsibility, picked her up, and carried her the remaining seven miles home. Wow. Now that's character. What was more captivating was his manner. I spent two nights hanging out with this man, and I don't think I caught a glimpse of him once without a smile. He's the kind of guy who would give a friend of a friend of his son's a hug when she left after just having met her. The kind of person you feel is like family the second you meet him.

This was how the party started. However, the mood quickly changed when his son became the object of castigation by his godfather, the honored guest of the night. The argument, in Polish of course, went from 0 to uncomfortable in .2 seconds. They continued back and forth quite loudly as we all pretended to suddenly become very interested in the tablecloth. The conflict began as a result of his godfather feeling he was not being respected. "Who am I if you don't listen to me?" Some English emerged. And, my mind stood still. Who am I if you don't listen to me? I'm not even sure completely of it's meaning to me yet, but it has stuck in my head since the moment it hit my ears. I thought it was beautiful. Who are any of us if someone doesn't listen to us?

It got my brain waves flowing over thoughts of how they fought so easily, so loudly, so unashamed. The first reaction might be to think it was inappropriate, but I felt the opposite. I saw it as healthy and desirous. And I wondered, if Americans were so comfortable with their feelings and honest in expressing them, instead of asserting their "power" over each other to hide their fears, wouldn't they be happier? Several other cultures are known for their family connectedness- the Italians for sons who live with their mothers into their 40s; Hispanics for sharing a single house among several generations. Americans are known for broken families. Families who live far apart. Families who don't understand each other. Maybe this is a wild generalization to make, but that night, hearing the passion between these two family members, I couldn't help but feel a little jealous.



Chicago- the land of many lands.