I am an american mutt. My family tree reads like a map of
early 20th-century immigration. My maternal grandfather arrived from northern Italy at age five, while my maternal grandmother left Burgenland, Austria, also as a small child. On my father's side, my great-grandfather journeyed from the northern mountains of Greece as a teen, and my grandmother was from England with deep American roots.
I am an american mutt and because of that, I sometimes feel
culturally adrift. The small amount of italian and greek that I knew as a child has faded from my memory.
I am an american mutt. Even though I am a quarter English, Italian, Greek and Austrian, I have a french
surname. This because of my Greek great-grandfather's involvement with the
mob, my grandfather chose to run away, change his name, and move far from there to escape that life. Now, whenever I introduce myself or attend classes, the inevitable question follows: "Are you French?" Each time I sigh and launch into my complicated explanation..
I am an
american mutt. My grandparents took their stories with them when they passed. Only my Greek grandfather told me of family members and his various exploits in Greece. My mother's parents had little memory of their European childhoods. They spoke instead of their American experiences growing up in
Chicago, as if their lives truly began only when they reached these shores.
I am an american mutt.