First generation

When I was in middle school I loved talking about how I was a first-generation American. In history class, we learned all about immigration and Ellis Island and all that, and about the particular plight of first-generation Americans trying to walk the tightrope of the culture they grew up in and the culture of their ancestry.

Of course, I was a first-generation American in little more than name only; my father was born in England (making both of us British citizens), but his parents were only waiting for him to be born before they moved to the US, and he was only six weeks old when he arrived here. He grew up in a British family, yes, and apparently had a British accent until he left home at the age of 18. But by the time I knew him over ten years later, he was more American than British--only his habit of pronouncing "Tuesday" as "Chooseday" and his dry British humor gave him away.

My grandmother was more British, of course, having grown up there, and she retained her accent and her proper, upright sense of decorum. We were never terribly close, though. In fact, there are only two things that I really feel that I got from her--the ability to make scrambled eggs and a beautiful, ornate set of silver. Both meaningful in different ways. But not specifically British.

And I've only actually been to England once, thirteen years ago, a trip that I only vaguely remember. Still, I loved the idea of being British, being a first-generation American, and liked to talk about it with my peers, who thought it was equally cool. Now, still, I love having two passports and knowing that Torsten and I, as citizens of the EU, will always be able to pick up and move to any EU member country if we feel like it. But I've gotten over that pride of being different and special that I felt as a preteen because of my father's ethnic heritage.

But with our upcoming trip to England and Germany, and the books I've been reading about international adoption and raising bilingual children, I've been reminded of how much I loved that multicultural aspect of myself when I was younger. Our children, even if they aren't adopted from another country, will be multicultural by birth--half German, half American, or to break it down further, half German, a quarter British, an eighth Russian, and an eighth Polish. They will be dual citizens and they will speak two languages.

We want worldly kids, kids who have visited lots of places and met lots of different kinds of people, kids who are aware of more than just a local, insular world. Maybe we'll live in different countries with them when they're young, or maybe we'll stick to the US. But either way, they'll have to be international travelers just to see their grandparents--and I'm happy about that. I'm happy that my kids will get to proudly tell their peers that they are first-generation Americans, just like I used to when I was a kid.

And even now, now that I'm older and don't talk or think about my ethnicity in those terms anymore, I still love answering questions about my ethnicity and learning about other people's. I always love comparing ethnic makeup with people and finding commonalities.

So answer me this, defining and interpreting the term however you choose. What's your ethnicity?