This post was written by my wife, Penny, after touring Ellis Island.
I feel like a fraud.
This essay is being written on the fourth of July while seated at a green metal table in tranquil Bryant Park in New York City (NYC). My husband, Paris, and I traveled to NYC so I could visit Ellis Island, which was where my family entered the United States when I was just six months old. Seeing Ellis Island with adult eyes has always been on my bucket list.
The anticipation grew as the ferry got closer and I could see the magnificent NYC skyline and bay juxtaposed behind an older, three story red brick building on the island. Upon entering, one walks into what’s referred to as the baggage room. It appeared immense and filled with a soft light that filtered down from the row of high windows near the vaulted ceiling. In the middle of the room was a display of trunks. One was almost identical to the big brown trunk which came with us from our mountain village, Ventimiglia, Sicily. Both trunks had the immigrants’ first address carefully lettered with white paint. Our trunk now sits against a wall in our basement.
My eyes began to tear up as I thought of my Mother traveling with a young child and an infant. She stood in those crowded rooms, waiting in endless lines, and not understanding a word of English. The tears rolled down my cheeks as I cautiously plodded up the gray stone steps. I couldn’t stop crying. I cried for my Mother’s bravery and the confusion she certainly felt. I cried, full of gratitude for my parents’ choices. Thankfully, I have lived a richer and much more independent life than I would have had if my family had stayed in Sicily. My life has been immensely blessed because of our immigration.
Yet, I find myself thinking of immigrating again to another country—a country where freedoms are treasured and not taken away. I am thinking of immigrating again because the division in the United States is frightening me. True listening seems to be a lost skill. Rejection of other’s choices seems to be destroying our social progress, voting rights, and individual freedoms. The direction in which the Supreme Court is going not only feels like a slap in the face, but terrifies me for my grandchildren’s future. What do I say to my granddaughter who asked me recently, “Why are guns more important than children’s lives?”
I was, and am, proud to be an American citizen, yet, I fear what this country is becoming. One of my childhood friend’s parents immigrated from Germany when Hitler came to power because they were disgusted by what was happening to their country. Should I be as brave as they were? As brave as my parents were?
Just last week I received an email from a publisher that is willing to publish a children’s book I wrote called A New Home and Other Stories. This book is a slightly fictionalized collection of stories about my family’s immigration and assimilation to the United States. After I finished writing the short stories, I realized how the recurring theme was that it is wonderful to be in America. I truly meant what I said in A New Home and Other Stories. Now, with these intrusive thoughts of another new home, I feel like a fraud.
Am I?
Mary Bullock
Penny, because I know you, I can without a doubt say there is not a fraud bone in your body. Your point is well taken however, I think what you say in this essay is what is on many of our minds. Our country is under attack from our lawmakers who are more interested in their own agenda than their constituents. Much is being done in the name of religion which under no circumstances would Jesus condone. Lastly a nation who has forgotten how to have a conversation. We no longer allow for differences of opinion and productive conversation and at worse agreeing to disagree pleasantly. I have only one answer, that is prayer, I can’t control anything else. We can’t give up on this country we love but I must admit I have looked a property in other countries. I get it.