People on a Bridge

By zerohour

VALUES

Location: Starkville, Mississippi. I kid you not.

After I came to the US, I was puzzled by repeated exchanges that went something like this:
"Where are you from?"
"Poland"
"Oh, yeah? I am from _______ (insert a European country)"
"Really? What city?"
"No, I mean my great-great grandparents were born there."

My universe was fairly simple: born and raised in Poland. One set of grandparents came from Lithuania; the other grandma's family from Germany. I was Polish, boom. I understand it, and value the clarity on my  national identity.

Here, folks suffer from the country-so-young syndrome. Vast majority of people's "people" were not born here, and so the search for the roots and sense of belonging hums on quite intensely. I understand it very well, and consider myself lucky: I have a very firm grip on who I am, and where I am from.

This group, the local Celtic crowd, set up a table during the annual arts festival, and was helping people locate the origins of their names, if they happen to be of Irish or Scottish origin.

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