Only In America

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Only In America
by Diane Alden

My beloved fly over country has not always been a place of peace and harmony -- just like today. There have been times when hatred, prejudice and misunderstanding have ruled in fly over country. There have been times when the divide between people seemed insurmountable. That is the history of America. America is as much a process as it is a way of life. In many ways it seems blessed by God and in other ways it seems cursed as well.

Long ago and faraway in a land of ice and cold and many lakes lived a young girl. In 1910 her family had moved to the United States from Poland. When she was about seven-years-old something happened to her and her family. It was the days when foreigners were not well liked. When they were blamed for every bad thing that happened. Being new to this country they did their best to get along, worked hard, saved, went to school and church and learned a difficult new language. They became citizens and the most valuable piece of paper they had was their citizenship papers.

In the 20s and 30s a kind of distrust and hatred was loose in the land. A hatred for all that was different and foreign. When a Catholic ran for President of the United States some people rose up in anger saying that his election would mean the end of the United States and that the Pope would come over on a submarine to rule the people of this blessed land. Lots of concerned citizens got together at this point to let these papists, Catholics, foreigners and Jews know how much they were disliked.

One summer day a crowd of men gathered in the little girl's neighborhood. They were carrying a cross and wearing white sheets and holding bats and rocks and guns. The cross was placed on the lawn of the house next door and someone lit it. The girl ran and hid under the bed waiting for the men to break down the door and drag her family out. In her 7-year-old head she thought she would be burned to. Since her father was at work miles away, the girl looked to her mother for comfort. The slight blond woman took the little girl's hand and said "don't be afraid, momma is here and I won't let anything happen to you." The little girl was terrified as she saw her mother put on her sweater and march out into the crowd. The girl peeped through the curtains as her momma went directly up to one of the marchers and pulled off his hood. The woman gasped when she recognized her dentist. With the rage of angels she said in controlled fury, "How could you Dr., how could you?"

The crowd dispersed and someone later came and took the remains of the cross away. The little girl ran to her momma and cried and hugged her.

Later the little girl became a lovely auburn haired beauty who attracted the attention of a young man who was a descendant of one of the oldest families the United States. Together they went through a World War, went to college, raised four children and took in the woman who had faced down the Klan. The two brave women were my grandmother and my mother -- Victoria and Jean.

The week before my grandmother died I found her sitting in a chair with tears in her eyes she was singing softly to herself a combination of two songs, God Bless America and Home on the Range. She told me many times "this is the best country Diane, never let it down."

Many years later my mother told me that story. My mother never had a job outside the home except when dad was in college. She volunteered for all kinds of projects and at one point she taught retarded kids to read, patiently listening as they struggled to form the words. Our house was the rest stop for every neighborhood kid who was lonely or hungry. More glasses of Kool-Aid were passed out at my house than at Dairy Queen.

When I would get discouraged and let self-doubt creep in and self-pity reign she would tell me "you can do anything you want in this country, anything at all." We would sing Let the Sunshine In, God Bless America and Home on the Range. She would tell me of the triumphs and low points of her favorite soap characters and I would laugh at how involved she got in their lives.

Once while on a business trip with my father she charmed a group of Japanese businessmen and their wives with her joy and humor and non-sequitors. The day my folks left the hotel after the business meeting the Japanese came up to her, not my father, and bowed in honor of who she was. The children clapped and hugged her before they said their good-byes.

At mom's funeral over 200 people showed up to honor a woman who had never been famous, or had a career or influenced a President. They told me many stories about Jean, some I had never heard before.

In her effects I found my grandmother's citizenship papers and pictures and letters she had written my dad when he was overseas. The small bundle of her days indicated a humble, religious, patriotic and deeply funny woman. In all the times with her that I can remember I never heard "a discouraging word" about America. There was never one claim for reparations or special treatment. She believed she had it all.

So now when I hear minorities asking for money or land or special treatment as pay back for past mistreatment, I think of my mom and my grandmother. They knew there were stupid people in this country, they knew there was prejudice and unfairness, bigotry and evil. But to Victoria and Jean, America was still hope's last home.