My family traveled to NYC last week. I was there for business while they were there for pleasure. Aside from a teenage girl’s cell phone being accidentally dropped in a garbage can and trash compactor, a good, though exhausting, time was had by all.
I saved the ferry ride to the Statue of Liberty for the last day. This part of my trip was my mother’s request; the Statue of Liberty was the one thing she wanted to do. I knew I would enjoy it, but I wouldn’t have been devastated if my only view was from the bridge.
I love my country and realize how fortunate we are to live here, but I have issues with my country. I grew up hearing that America was the land of opportunity. I grew up daydreaming about a life that consisted of a job that made you smile, a spouse, a cute house with a white picket fence, and a golden retriever. My future husband and I were going to have 2.3 kids who were going to be gorgeous, smart, easy to raise, and successful.
I didn’t grow up dreaming about dads dying or couples having kids and singles raising them. I didn’t dream about low-wage jobs and a lack of affordable healthcare. I never imagined houses needing repairs or cars needing large loans. I never thought about racial or social injustice. Those things didn’t exist in my young mind. And yet, here I sit, almost 50 years old, clutching so tightly to those childhood dreams that my fingers have long lost all their feeling.
I sat on the boat with my family, taking pictures and talking about everything and nothing at the same time. We enjoyed the tour guide’s knowledge and made a note to learn more about a few things. When it was mentioned to check to see if our name was written in the records, we had a conversation about what it must have been like for the immigrants sailing in. They had to have been simply grateful to have made it. We also used other words, such as “scared,” “anxious,” and “hopeful.” I’m sure, looking back, the kids had romanticized images from the movie “Titanic” in their heads.
I started to think about my job and the stories I hear every day. People are hungry, broke, and struggling to keep going and to not give up at the same time. We aren’t okay here in the richest country in the world, and the pandemic brought it into clearer focus. I could give 20 reasons why I was mad at this country right off the top of my head, and each reason had a name and a face attached to it. We’re asking for the same things that President Franklin Delano Roosevelt asked for 77 years ago.
And the Statue has stood silently and watched the whole time.
As we approached the Statue, the sky lit up with lightning. The boat began to rock, the wind picked up, and the rain pelted our skin. “How fitting,” I thought. “Here I am at the Statue of Liberty in the middle of a storm. Talk about opportunity.” My family stayed on the outside deck as long as they could while I stayed in, watching the boat draw closer to the Statue. And then, when I was staring right at her and the tour guide called for a line for photos, something inside me cracked, and I felt a tear roll down my cheek.
Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with emotion. All of the thoughts I had wrestled with earlier came rushing back, but, instead of filling me with despair and anger, I felt myself wanting to declare ownership. That Statue has stood there, welcoming disenfranchised people to this country for 146 years. She promised prosperity and success, and in that moment, I could almost feel my bootstraps get a little stronger.
I was called a Communist a couple of weeks ago because of an article I wrote about not wanting to celebrate the 4th of July. I saw the article as just the opposite. I hold high hopes for those I love. I know what the obstacles are for them to achieve the American Dream, and I am open and honest with those I love, too, and call them on hurtful and harmful behavior. I view my love of country as holding those same responsibilities. I want everything I love to be the best it can be, and that includes my country.
My souvenir from Ellis Island was a renewed resolve to fight like hell for this country. Well, that, and a $10 souvenir photo of my family’s fake smiles, soaking wet, in a thunderstorm while Lady Liberty stares at our tired, poor, and huddled masses in the background.
Onward,
Amy Jo
