What are you?

For some strange reason my life is showing an increase in social obligations, I seem to be doomed to spending an increasing amount of time at parties, dinners, functions, and being around groups of people I don’t know. At some point during the festivities someone is going to find me lurking in the corner wondering why my martini tastes like kerosene and start a conversation with me. Invariably, after the usual party patter is out of the way the question is asked, “What are you?”

My stock answer is, “Cranky, out-of-sorts, grouchy, and tired of suffering idiots.”

Without hearing a word of what I’ve just said they respond brightly, “I’m German-American”. Or Swedish-American or one of any number of hyphen Americans that seem to be so “in” today. The identification of an individual based on ancestral background has replaced the equally boring, “What’s your sign?” Personally I’d rather go back to being a Pisces and listen to a brain deadening analysis of my psyche by some white wine imbiber who believes our lives are influenced by the meanderings of Ursa Minor.

The “what’s your sign” people are much easier to deal with than the current crop of hyphen Americans. The vast majority of these uncomfortable people seem to be looking for a place in society that they can’t create for themselves. It is not good enough for them to be an American, they have to be something else American.

Let’s use me for example, or not, as you please. When this question arises at a social gathering I have the impulse to scream “FIRE!” at the top of my lungs and jump out the nearest window. This is not always practical and there are times I get locked into the conversation. Then I am forced to admit that I don’t know what else I am other than American. All the members of my family are Americans, and the large majority of their friends are Americans.

This does not even slow down the hyphen American who’s hot on my trail. “Well, you must be Irish, you have an Irish name.”

I try to point out that I have a friend named Boeing and he’s not an airplane.

That doesn’t work and they bore in for the kill, “You should be proud of your Irish heritage, you shouldn’t try to hide it.”

I’m left with the impression that should go out, buy a funny shaped hat, drink lots of Irish whisky, and talk with an unintelligible brogue to be acceptable in this person’s circle of friends.

Let’s assume that I am of Irish descent. Only assume, mind you. My ancestors obviously left Ireland for a very good reason to come to the United States. Once here they became Americans. Their offspring were Americans, and their offspring, so on and so forth for many generations. No connections with Ireland, no desires to join the IRA and blow up women and children in department stores.

I’m an American with no apologies. No hyphens. No second guessing. Am I always happy to be an American? No. I argue with my government, the courts, the tax laws, and my morning newspaper. Could I do this in any other country? No. Do I want to be anything but an American? No.

I live in an imperfect country in an imperfect world. I do know that I live the best country available and I’m grateful of the foresightedness of my ancestors, whoever they were, that chose to move here.

Some people are here because their ancestors were brought here against their will. That was then, this is now. Nothing can undo that, history has one constant and that is that it is unchangeable. Talk to the vast majority of these descendants of forced Americans and you will find that they do not want to live in the country of their ancestors.

My major problem with hyphen Americans is they feel this deep need to inflict their concept of their culture on the rest of us.

If that’s the purpose of the hyphen then I demand equal rights. If I am descended from Irish immigrants I want my supposed culture inflicted on you. Since I must respect your hyphen, you must respect mine. I demand that one day a year be set aside as Irish Culture Day and everybody paints themselves blue and hangs from trees.

I will, as a free American with a hyphen, accept no compromise on that.