What It Means to Be an American

Screen shot 2013-07-21 at 10.30.45 AMOn my brief hiatus, that I will disguise using the word “hiatus” and not the words “time when I did nothing but work and had nothing to say,” I thought much about what it means to be an American.

One story in particular came to mind. No, not the one where I held up a two dollar bill and asked one of the girls I nanny whose face was on there (Jefferson), and she responded…”Um..Mitt RomENy?” No, not that one.

I think of a time at the beach with my family, after a long day out in the sand, unsuccessfully trying to bring my pale mother out from under the umbrella and into the water, or get my sister to eat a hot dog, we were all assembled at Mike’s Sea Food Dock for some dinner.

This is a tradition for our family, although I’m not sure why. None of the three kids really liked sea food growing up, and two of us (my brother and I) still don’t (now all my sister eats is fish). But we all go there anyway for the fun atmosphere, like the absurdly large anchor they have kind of chained to a wall that still could fall and kill a small child.

We were in line at the restaurant, and my brother, fourteen at the time (now he’s fifteen – big difference), was standing innocently in line next to me when my mother rounded on him and said, “What are you going to get for dinner?”

Without missing a beat, my brother answered, “Chicken fingers and fries.” He has eaten this at exactly every single restaurant we have ever been to. There is the American attribute number one: loyalty in the face of options by always choosing chicken fingers, an American classic.

My mom said, “No, come on, we’re at a seafood restaurant! You can’t get that.” American attribute number two: trying even when you know that you will most definitely fail.

For some reason, my brother took this and responded very strongly by saying, “What is this North Korea? This is America! Let a man eat what he wants and I want chicken fingers and fries!” to which the black guy behind us busted out laughing and yelled, “Preach!” (Look at those races coming together!) American attribute number three: eating what you want, when you want it, and realizing that you have it better than most countries in the world. (Maybe the last part is a little deep for what my brother was going for, but still, this isn’t all fun and games people).

My mother found that she could not actually respond to being compared to a North Korean dictatorship and my brother was able to eat his chicken fingers after all.

From this moment forward, my brother has used this line to his advantage many a time, but also just to make me laugh.

When the internet isn’t working “up to par:” What is this, North Korea?

When the TV is only showing commercials: What is this, North Korea?

When you shoot 11 holes in one while playing mini golf for the first time: What is this, North Korea? (Yes! but only if you’re the dictator.)

And laughter and fun was had by all – American attribute number four.

 

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6 thoughts on “What It Means to Be an American”

    1. If my brother ran for president, we would eat chicken fingers for Thanksgiving and maybe I would be pretty ok with this.

    1. Hahahah Donna, mom can handle it. She dishes it too, don’t let her fool you!

  1. Too funny. Maybe I’ll take to saying, “They never did this in the Himalays!” Just for the fun of it.

    Thanks for making me laugh!

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