What Is an American?

Modeled after Michel-Guillaume Jean de Crevecoeur's essay

When I was in fourth grade, my teacher explained that we were not to say we were “Americans” because people in Canada and Mexico were also from North America—we were United States citizens. So when I was visiting Korea as an adult teaching at the International School at Handong Global University, I tried to enlighten the Korean culture with political correctness that I was a United States citizen…however, it became quite tiresome with the language barrier and I quickly realized that for better or worse, wherever one traveled, the Imperialistic legacy of the United States leaked itself into the collective unconscious, and whether I saw myself as an American or not, this was a cultural icon far larger than my little spirit could conquer.

My rudimentary teachings were of the Boston Tea Party—how that group rebelled from their oppressive British rulers and threw the tea into the Boston body of water. Dr. Oz was on Oprah and advised this poor woman with feet stench to soak her feet in tea bags—how American! She came on the show extremely grateful that now she was more acceptable to society because her feet no longer stank up the room when she took her shoes off.

As if it were a past life, even though I don’t think the majority of Americans believe in past lives, because the majority of Americans are Christian minus Dr. Oz, a Muslim and a vegan mind you, I was taken by the Salem witch trials. My elementary teacher told me that they would throw you in the water, if you floated, you were burned at the stake because you were guilty! But if you sunk, you were innocent, but you were dead anyway, so what did it matter?

In high school, my teacher told me to cherish my heritage. I had no idea what these words meant. I was brought up in one of the nation’s top ten most violent cities in America—Saginaw, Michigan. I didn’t know much about my Irish heritage, although I learned later about The Magdalene Laundries, the oppression and shaming of women through the Catholic religion, but also the ostracisation of their religion and the poor conditions in which they came to this country. I am more Finnish than anything else, yet I have never been to Finland, although I love my Volvo, and like to say I’m Swedish because it sounds more exotic. My name is very German, but I don’t like to admit that to anyone because of the whole Nazi thing. Maybe this is why I’ve had so many Jewish boyfriends? Only in America. I had to call my Grandmother and prove to a ninth grade boy that I am part Native American from the Polawadamee tribe. I, too, am American. I am more than just the white woman they perceive.

We have forty weeks to cover the American Literature in our text. I know that when my students leave, they will only have a taste of Feminism, Civil Rights, Transcendentalism and the notions of freedom on which our America was built. But I am making them write this essay, so if nothing else, they will be able to define for themselves what it is to be an American.