My Americanness is not a cloak I can drape over my shoulders or toss off at will. It exists at the somatic level, in every part of what makes me up. It’s carried in my cells, reflected in my DNA. I may not be comprised of McDonald’s French fries, but in a way I’m not far from it.
I was born in New York City, raised on America’s West Coast. Mine was among my classmates’ voices as we placed our hands above our hearts each morning: I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic, for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. Later those words will cause tears to gather under my lids and fall, unbidden, onto my cheeks. Later the atrocities that this Republic, for which it stands, will bring to fruition will spur me to finger my passport and think seriously about fleeing back overseas.
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