Heritage
My brother and his family returned from what looked like a simply amazing trip to Italy.
I commented about how special the place seemed to be and John answered:
"You can really get a sense of our heritage."
And it made me think of the unbelievable nasty debate that is going on in this country right now:
Immigration.
My Dad wasn't a fan of having his heritage denounced.
He would actually fight a man who had the misfortune of uttering a nasty word like:
Dago, or Wop.
"Wop comes from when Italians used to come over to America," Dad explained. "When they were gathered at the Statue of Liberty they would have a sign around their necks:
W.O.P. - With-Out Papers."
I spent a lot of time talking about heritage and tradition with my Dad.
We didn't have the conversation on purpose, or even in a single setting.
We did it over time.
"We should have pasta every Sunday," I remember telling Dad when I was about five-years-old.
"We will. That's what we do in our family."
(Do you know that in my 50 years I have not had pasta on only about four Sundays in my life?)
A tip of the cap to our heritage.
And I know there are certainly problems.
Huge problems.
Rapists and criminals are getting in.
But so are men like those who came across the pond from my family...
...and your family.
People who wanted to escape lives of poverty...
...or crime.
Hardworking men and women who want something more.
People who are W.O.P. who dream of the promised land of America.
This is what is graven on a tablet within the pedestal on which the Statue of Liberty Stands:
The New Colussus by Emma Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp! cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
And that is why immigration isn't quite as simple to me as:
"Don't let anyone in!"
Some of the same folks who want to change the immigration policy beg people to honor the sanctity of the amendments when it comes to other things, like guns...
...you can't have it both ways.
Yeah...
...the policies have been compromised.
People need to follow the proper procedures to enjoy the freedoms of the land.
Yet American can't simply close the doors.
That's not honoring the principles of the country that is made up of all possible heritages.
There's no denying that I'm an American...Born in the USA...through and through...and my children are even more American than me as they are one more generation away from the members of our family who came over...
...some with no papers at all...
...and built a life.
A great life.
One where we have pasta each Sunday.
You can really get a sense of our heritage.
One sentence, spoken by my brother, made me consider all of it.
I'd hate to see walls or a sign on the door that simply says:
CLOSED.
That's not what our forefathers wanted.
I commented about how special the place seemed to be and John answered:
"You can really get a sense of our heritage."
And it made me think of the unbelievable nasty debate that is going on in this country right now:
Immigration.
My Dad wasn't a fan of having his heritage denounced.
He would actually fight a man who had the misfortune of uttering a nasty word like:
Dago, or Wop.
"Wop comes from when Italians used to come over to America," Dad explained. "When they were gathered at the Statue of Liberty they would have a sign around their necks:
W.O.P. - With-Out Papers."
I spent a lot of time talking about heritage and tradition with my Dad.
We didn't have the conversation on purpose, or even in a single setting.
We did it over time.
"We should have pasta every Sunday," I remember telling Dad when I was about five-years-old.
"We will. That's what we do in our family."
(Do you know that in my 50 years I have not had pasta on only about four Sundays in my life?)
A tip of the cap to our heritage.
And I know there are certainly problems.
Huge problems.
Rapists and criminals are getting in.
But so are men like those who came across the pond from my family...
...and your family.
People who wanted to escape lives of poverty...
...or crime.
Hardworking men and women who want something more.
People who are W.O.P. who dream of the promised land of America.
This is what is graven on a tablet within the pedestal on which the Statue of Liberty Stands:
The New Colussus by Emma Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp! cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
And that is why immigration isn't quite as simple to me as:
"Don't let anyone in!"
Some of the same folks who want to change the immigration policy beg people to honor the sanctity of the amendments when it comes to other things, like guns...
...you can't have it both ways.
Yeah...
...the policies have been compromised.
People need to follow the proper procedures to enjoy the freedoms of the land.
Yet American can't simply close the doors.
That's not honoring the principles of the country that is made up of all possible heritages.
There's no denying that I'm an American...Born in the USA...through and through...and my children are even more American than me as they are one more generation away from the members of our family who came over...
...some with no papers at all...
...and built a life.
A great life.
One where we have pasta each Sunday.
You can really get a sense of our heritage.
One sentence, spoken by my brother, made me consider all of it.
I'd hate to see walls or a sign on the door that simply says:
CLOSED.
That's not what our forefathers wanted.
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