Truly American - Amanda Diaz-Horvath (black male authors .txt) 📗

Truly American

One mans Search of the American Dream

What makes us American? Is it a birth certificate that is just a piece of paper saying we were born on American soil, or to American parents? Is it a feeling of pride to be from the freest country in the world? Or is it something else? As I was starting this essay, I sat and pondered those questions and more. What came to me were some of the typical clichés, “as American as apple pie,” “blue blood,” and the other things that most think of when they describe Americans. But as I started to write, I thought, “it is so much more.” Being an American cannot be defined by any one look or race, description, or term. Being an American is truly in the heart of the beholder. For me, when I ask myself what is an American, the one answer that is the strongest is my grandfather.
My maternal grandfather was the third of his seven siblings to be born in the United states. His oldest brother and two sisters were part of the “old” family that was from Austria. His father left them there to find the “American Dream” when the youngest was just 8 months old. They would not see him again for eight years when they would make the long journey to McKees Rocks, PA. That is where the “new family” of the last four would be born.
My grandfather would often tell me about growing up in an immigrant family and the struggles they had. They were very poor. All the children had to work to help the family get by from a very young age. He had to start a paper route at the age of seven. They attended St. Mary’s Catholic school. It was the German church. He failed first grade because he did not speak English. The nuns would not pass him until he learned at least the basic conversational phrases.
Even though “the bottoms” in McKees Rocks were all immigrants from various back grounds who came to the United States for the same reason, they all stayed with their own kind. This made it hard for my grandfather and his brothers and sisters to learn English. The father made them only speak German in the house to hold some of the old culture. It was not until his father died when he was eight years old that his mother insisted that her children be fluent in their new culture.
Despite failing the first grade, my grandfather became advanced enough to catch up on his studies and graduate high school on time. He would read the news paper every night until his mother would make him stop and hide it from him. He would listen to any radio he would be able to. This was the majority of how he and his family learned English. By striving to be “American” he was able to succeed in his studies.
My great grandmother died when my grandfather was only fifteen years old. This was the changing point in his life. His oldest sister, Ida, had married a Greek and moved to the other side. (I never knew where the other side was.) His oldest brother, Willy, who was the second oldest from the first family, was already in the military. The only one left to raise the younger siblings was his second oldest sister, Hermina, “Minnie“. She tried her best to keep them afloat with her child and then her siblings in the small house. He husband died not long after, leaving her with her young son, and younger siblings in a similar situation that their mother had been in. They all got thought it with the power of family.
Richard, my grandfather, was one of the first in his family to graduate high school, though there was always a discrepancy in the story on when that actually was. I just know it was around the draft. “The only way to beat the draft,” my grandfather would tell us, “is to join the military.” And he did just that. He joined the Air Force not just because of the draft, but it was a place he could truly be “American”. He served in Vietnam, and then went into the guard after his years of service. He finally found his America.
He married my grandmother, Joan Herbert Horvath, on August 22, 1959. It was on his birthday so he would never forget. He became a part of the traditional American family he had always dreamed. They had two children 18 years apart. They were his life.
My grandfather, Richard John Horvath, died on August 12, 2003. He truly is my America. I feel that his story is the “American” story. His life was never easy but he made the best of it and succeeded.

Publication Date: 11-06-2010

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Dedication:
In loving memory of my Grandfather. I will always be Pappy's girl. I love and miss you.