Recently, I had a discussion with my parents about where we each felt most at home. My mother, a British-American, and my father, a native Romanian-Hungarian, both agree that New York City, being the melting pot of the United States, was […]
I am an American.
To some this phrase inspires hope and pride, and for others it arouses awkward silence and rolling eyes. But what does it mean to be an American?
Instantly, the images that come to my mind are summer baseball games with a hotdog in […]
I remember going to London with PNB back in 2002. I couldn’t wait to get back to America and everything that made me feel at home. The money, the food, the accents, the winding cobblestone streets, it all made me feel out […]
Both the inherent significance of being an American and my perception of what it means to be an American have changed dramatically for me as I’ve grown older. I was born in 1946. As a child, I completely […]
America’s founders declared the pursuit of happiness to be an unalienable human right, on a par with the right to life itself. Despite an underlying streak of Puritanism, Americans usually accord a measure of tolerance and respect, if sometimes reluctantly, to […]
My family was a hodgepodge of national backgrounds, but my generation (late baby boomer) and our previous two generations were all American-born. My parents grew up in the Depression and were young adults during WWII, so my “American Story” was shaped […]
My great-grandmother, Amelia, was born in 1854 and emigrated from Crewkerne, England, a grimy factory town. It took Amelia’s father three years to earn passage for her mother and two sisters, after he found work […]
My mother grew up on a dairy farm in central California as part of a very close knit Dutch community. My mom’s side of the family has only been in the country since the 1920s where they settled in Minnesota. While my […]
My American Story begins with Swiss emigrants in the mid-1700’s who left their homeland to settle in the fertile farmlands of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. When I visited Switzerland, I was amazed at the similarities in barn designs and covered bridges that are […]
A few days after my birth in Florence, Italy, in 1938, my mother read the headline in the Italian newspaper: “The Jews are not of the Italian Race.” An Italian Jew with roots in Ancient Rome, she […]