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Χιος to Hughes…we’re all immigrants

Patricia Hughes,
Lake Arrowhead, CA.

My father’s father took the long route of immigration from Greece during the political upheavals occurring in the early part of the 20th century, and later sent for his family. My father and some of his siblings were born in America. Growing up extremely poor in Denver, Colorado, my father was determined to excel both in education and sports (he was a champion wrestler), and to serve his country as a United States Marine in WWII. Post-war, he earned his degree, and became an elementary teacher in America’s public schools. Then, he literally followed a dream to marry my mother. My mother’s lineage traces back to European royal lines.

Mom and Dad only ever wanted us to “be Americans” and to “assimilate.” Although we love Greek food and culture, we did not, as children, learn the Greek language or continue in the Greek church. It’s interesting to note that my “white” mother was not accepted by my Greek grandfather, for quite some time!

All of us kids grew up in small-town America: Southern California. I chose to follow my father’s path, and became a teacher. I am concluding my own long career in public education, having served the needs of our “ever-immigrant” nation.

We are all immigrants.

Veteran Patriot Still White Washed Wetback

FB_IMG_1451301720754Michael Morentin,
Los Angeles, CA.

Growing up a third generation Mexican-American I find myself walking America as a 30 year old Marine Corps veteran and recent college graduate whom is too brown for those around me who are white, and not brown enough for those around me of hispanic heritage. Being third generation Mexican-American the Spanish language remains out of my reach. I find myself understanding vaguely the language but do not currently have the able to carry a conversation. This is a difficult situation for me because all my life it seems I am looked down upon by those of my own ethnicity for not speaking the language, and looked down about by those who are Caucasian for being too ethnic.It was in within the my service from 2004-2009 what i found myself surounded by people who were from all walks of life and generally accepted our differences and excercised tolerance of those different. A true brotherhood was gained and it was my service that only truly makes me feel American.I have gained pride through service and still see and hear the snickering from those who believe i am “white-washed” and those that believe I’m generally automatically a “landscaping expert or day worker”.

African American Marine New Muslim Traitor

991004-F-3050V-527Vincent Simon,
Fort Worth, TX.

I’m a new revert to Islam, served in the US Marine Corps. Because of my new religion, I have been called a traitor to my country. The person who called me this doesn’t know me very well and didn’t serve in the military. I have been criticized by “good” Christians, who I know are well meaning, but are only Sunday Christians and fit their religion to the world, not the world to their religion.

As American as rice and beans

Jorge Valladares
Orlando, FL

My parents came to this country as undocumented immigrants from Honduras, Central America. Their three children provide public service of some kind – I work with students with disabilities at a public college; my sister is a high school Spanish teacher and my brother is a former post-9/11 US Marine and current Brevard county Florida Fire Fighter. We are today’s American family – as American as rice and beans.

When’s the next bus for Lobeco?

Joe Fournelle,
Stuarts Draft, VA.

Spring 1969. I was a 20-year-old Marine at the Greyhound bus station in Beaufort, SC waiting for transportation to Cherry Point, NC via commercial bus. An “old” (older than me anyway) black man approached me and asked me to find out when the next bus bus for Lobeco was. I indicated the ticket window and said why don’t you ask yourself? He went away. Not till years later did I realize that he didn’t ask for himself because at best be wouldn’t get an answer and who knows what he could face at worst. So much for my “Yankee” youthful naivete. I didn’t have a clue “how things were”.

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