…all manner of different original variable distinct contrasted nuanced shades of mixed bag = fun
~a column by Colleen O’Brien
Thanksgiving is a week gone, but I will remember this one for a long time; it was one Turkey Day that was about immigrants, just like the first one.
I was not taking notes, but the conversation, without the many asides, went something like this:
– My family was Pennsylvania Dutch –
– I’ve always wondered what that means –
– Germans who came to America to escape religious problems –
– So why do they call them ‘Dutch’ –
– ‘Deutsch’ is the German word for Germans. It’s really pronounced “Doych” –
– So [to the wife] are you ‘Doych’ also –
– Oh, heavens, no. I’m a Hugeuenot –
– Does that mean you’re from Hugue . . . – or not –
Lots of laughter on that one.
– No, it means my family on my mom’s side was Swiss and belonged to a religion that wasn’t Lutheran and so they had to meet in secret, at night, and they finally fled to France, where there were more of their kind and when they got in trouble there, a bunch came to America to get away from religious persecution –
Two for two escaping one dominant religion or another.
– My family is Polish/Hungarian – My mom’s family from Poland. And my dad’s from Budapest in 1916. I just did the search, you know, the Ellis Island research –
– Were they refugees –
– Well, my father’s family got outta there just before the first world war . . . –
– My family is English/English — Drowne and Daniels – My daughter always wanted to have more exotic ancestors –
– Did they come on the Mayflower –
– I’ve never looked it up. But they became Mormon –
– Wow. Lots of wives –
– N.O.! –
– Wozniak. Guess where I’m from –
– Polish all sides? –
– -Well, only the south side –
– Huh? –
– South side of Chicago –
– My one side is Irish, the other Portuguese — the Azores –
– No wonder you wound up in Boston –
– Well, yes, a lot of Irish and Portuguse there – My grandfather the fisherman looked Arab – I think he might have been from Morocco, but the family never talked about it –
– I’m Irish and . . . –
– Just look at him — can’t you tell –
– Viking! –
– Jah. Svedish . . . and Sioux –
– Oh! – A native – –
– Colleen O’Brien —
– Well, that name’s a no-brainer – More from Ireland than anyplace else at this table. Why is that –
– Hunger –
It was such a fun and interesting table of conversation. It continued with stories of individuals in each one’s family — characters abounded; it’s usually the scalawags in the tree, no matter what part of the world you hail from, who claim the fame because the rest of us are so tame the story’s always the same: get born, get a spouse, get kids and die. The memorable point of this Thanksgiving meal was that all of us originated from someplace besides here and with only one disparaging comment about the Mormons, no disagreements ruined the day. From 10 backgrounds came stories of the different customs, odd side dishes, various languages and many religions — although none of these folks are still practicing their original religion; or any religion.
Our ancestors came here with the glimmer of a better life than where their people had lived for eons. There had to have been a great burden of hardship or fright to abandon family. And a large amount of courage. Some of those immigrants came alone at 12 years of age, in steerage — no mom, no money, just hope.
None of us was Jewish, Muslim or Hindu. No African American, Latina or Asian. We all had Europe in our stories — no India, Dominican Republic, Micronesia, Japan, Uzbekistan. With any luck, next year’s Thanksgiving dinner will share even more diverse (distorted antiparallel athwart bent deviating) interesting and fun folks from near and far.
Who are you having over for Christmas?
