American Stew

This is the view from our kitchen window. Every morning as we stumble to our coffee maker we see that American flag flying high. It reminds me of the great hope that our country was built upon, and the frightening uncertainty of its future. Today, despite a light breeze, it appears to be tangled and stuck, a visual metaphor for how many of us are feeling these days.

I spent my childhood on Long Island surrounded by neighbors of all colors and cultures, ranging from the kind Haitian family who lived down the street to our Icelandic friends whose last name contained an fascinating combination of vowels and was mesmerizingly beautiful. With my high school youth orchestra, I was lucky enough to travel to places like Indonesia, Singapore, Australia, New Zealand, Scandinavia and Thailand. The bulk of my successful horn playing career was achieved on an instrument made in Japan. My husband provides for our family by playing a clarinet that was handmade in Paris out of rare African wood, after studying in Berlin for two years to learn from a German master. The super for our first NYC apartment was a kind and feisty Irish woman. My sons study with a brilliant Chinese piano teacher. My children love all kinds of foods from around the world, which we can order through our smart phones and enjoy at the touch of a button. Indian, Chinese, Thai, Japanese and Mexican are favorites, and we enjoy them all with abandon and without a second thought. Yesterday, my 13 year old son attended one (of many) Bar Mitzvahs to celebrate this important and time-honored rite of passage with his Jewish friend. The incredible craftsman who singlehandedly remodeled our upstairs bathroom hails from Mexico. I love Spanish wine and Argentinian steak and German beer. Masterpieces from Russian and French composers are played here in Chicago every week under the impeccable ears of the great Italian maestro who hired my husband and who leads his great orchestra on its musical journey around the globe. 

My family’s life is literally defined by (and depends upon) a brilliant medley of global flavors, music, religions and cultures. Being immersed in and having access to this dizzying array of choice and variety is what it MEANS to be American. Imagining our lives without any one of these influences is nearly impossible for me. In this day and age, the world is a very small place. However, as I am constantly trying to explain to my Googled, instant gratification-ized children, this was not always the case. Before the days of easy travel, the internet, and FaceTime, learning about other places meant you had to read about them in dusty World Book encyclopedias, watch exotic scenes on National Geographic, or you had to actually go there. Going there was an enormous, expensive privilege and always a life-altering experience. 

Here is what I learned by going out into the world: 

Shutting out color only makes for bleaker landscapes. Excluding differences flattens our emotional, intellectual and physical experience. Refusing to respect other cultures and fear of new things diminishes our potential individually and collectively. 

I believe that our diversity make us better; that each yarn we weave into this vibrant human tapestry supports and complements the ones before. I believe that our individual religious backgrounds give us strength to spring into unknown waters, only to emerge with a deeper understanding and compassion for those swimming alongside us in the murky depths, searching for truth and meaning and magic and something bigger than ourselves. I believe that our colors layered and combined create the richest of canvases and the most luscious and poignant of symphonies. I believe that each one of us has a vital ingredient to add to the pot; to the rich, complex, gorgeous stew that is America. Ours is a unique and treasured recipe so worth fighting for.  

Please, my friends, let's keep on cooking.