They Comin' to America!

This past week, the wonderful lady who helps me keep my house an oasis of order (as opposed to the capital of chaos it could be) became an American citizen. Eva is an American.

She and her husband came here to give themselves and their two children better lives than they could have had in Bulgaria. Her husband isn't ready to give up his Bulgarian identity and I can understand that. It's a big step to become a citizen of another country and it could feel like you're giving up who you are.

But Eva. She took that big step. That huge step. And I'm so proud of her. Because no matter the screw-ups of our leaders, no matter the foreign policy fumbles, the wars, and whatnot, I'm so very proud of my country and proud to call myself American.

When Eva told me she had passed her test, I wanted to go right out, get her copies of the Constitution, Declaration of Independence, The Federalist Papers, tons of American flags, and on and on. I decided I wanted her to love this country.

But, you know what? She already loves this country. To want to become a part of something, you already have to have an admiration for that something. In fact, I think she's more of an American than me. Because flush with her new-found citizenship, she's excited about her Americanism, more than I have ever been. Probably more proud of her American affiliation than anyone I know has ever been. She's going out next week to get her passport. She's not planning on traveling anywhere, but having that booklet with the American eagle on the front, announcing her affiliation with this country, is something tangible that she wants to hold in her hands.

I'm reminded of reading a long-ago interview with Whoopi Goldberg, who said when she fills out an application or an information form, she enters "American" for race. Not African-American, but American. And that? Makes sense. Why do we, as Americans, describe ourselves as African-Americans, Asian-Americans, white, black, Hispanic, American Indians? Why do we make a point of telling friends and acquaintances that, "My ancestors are German/Italian/Mexican/French." Why are we so focused on our pasts and allowing the nationalities of our long-gone families to define who we are? When we are Americans? What is so wrong with that? If we think of ourselves as "hyphenated" Americans, then we are dividing ourselves, and that is never good for a group or a nation.

Eva receiving her American citizenship makes me want to take an American flag out to a busy intersection and start waving it, yelling at the top of my lungs, "I am an American! And I'm proud!"

Why?

Because a new member has joined our ranks - and that's something to be excited about!