Diary of a Mad Black Woman

I published this in my college newspaper a little while back:

(ENJOY.)


Welcome to my culture identity crisis. I don’t get to dance in fancy garb, eat awesome food, or speak a sexy sounding language. I get to bob my head to alternative crap-pop, eat fast food, and say “yooooooooo." I’m disappointed. Whose fault is this? Can I blame my ancestors, who rashly let their European customs slip upon entrance into industrial mediocrity? Or their kids, my grandparents, for teenage rebellion in the form of Americanization? What about myself… have I not vehemently pursued continuing the beliefs and behaviors of my German-Italian-French-Polish-Scottish background?

America has always been the same, I think: lots of people immigrating for the opportunity of a lifetime; the opportunity of living their dreams. Those who come usually work their asses off in pursuit of happiness, whether idealistically or monetarily, but then they have kids.

These “second-generation" Americans, be them of European decent in the 19th and 20th centuries or hailing from every country in the world today, face a dilemma. Parents try to pass on their culture in the face of adversity, pitting family-life, language, religion, and those thinly dispersed acquaintances sharing their experiences against behaviors taught by their children’s teachers and peers and the media.

STAY THE WAY YOU ARE.
We don’t need more stupid gringos running around this damn country. Our population is doomed if our incessant ethnocentrism prevails. Lack of culture and difference is not only boring, it limits humanity’s ability to adapt, and aren’t we in this together?

Yes, I am a “(somewhat)-privileged white boy." Yet I take this for granted and whine about my culture identity crisis, my head bobbing, my fast food, and saying “duuuuude." In other words: Immigrants, I’m talking to you, don’t become one of us. That’s lame and uninteresting, and then I won’t be able to enjoy watching you dance or indulge myself in your awesome food or wonder what you’re saying about me on the Metro.

But, of course, I’m just a mad black woman.