I Pledge Allegiance

I don't know if I'm American anymore and I have a black eye to prove it.

This all started when I saw an Asian man pushing a cart in the grocery store parking lot. You see, me and my new, hot girlfriend had gone grocery shopping together at the hippie gourmet marketplace - one of my favorite things in the world to do - and while putting away our treasures in the station wagon, I saw him.
Clearly an ASIAN man who had decided to make an entire lap around the lot, in order to secure his empty cart in the corral corner, since the corral corner closest to his car was completely filled.

Now...if it were me in that situation. Or my new, hot girlfriend (though she claims differently), we probably wouldn't have gone that extra mile in grocery cart etiquette. Probably, we would have left the cart beside our vacated spot - free to pinball around the parking lot for the next hour, denting unsuspecting cars, until it found a home. Or we would have pile-driven it onto the grassy median strip like most other people. Let's be completely honest. Most people would not normally take the time out of their busy day, especially after grocery shopping, to be as generous as this particular Asian man was being.

And then...I opened my big mouth.

"If that man were American, he wouldn't be doing that."

Then I added a few other choice statements like:

"Americans are fat and lazy."
"Asians have a better work ethic than Americans."

AND

"Damn, I need a nap after all that shopping."

My new, hot girlfriend, (from this point on to be called Crusher), was cramming down some chocolate mousse tart at the time, but that didn't stop her from bringing things to a screeching halt.
"That is a racist remark," she screamed. "An unfounded and ignorant, racist remark. How do you even know that guy's not American?"

"Look at him. He's Asian." I challenged her.
"He may look Asian, but-"
"He's clearly Asian."
"But he might have lived here all his life. You don't know."
"Doesn't make him any less Asian."

I wont bore you with the tirade that followed. Suffice it to say there was enough good material to last the entire trip home, leaving Crusher so exasperated that she resorted to physical violence against me.
Me...I can separate the opinion or statement from the person making the delivery. Guess she has difficulty doing that. (And this is not a sexist comment, but the PMS doesn't help either.) She got so angry at me that when I tried to console her, she was inconsolable. When I tried to reason with her, she was not reasonable. When I tried to touch her, well...she punched me in the face. My eye is now black. Guess I am a martyr for my beliefs. Finally, some recognition.

Anyway, the whole dispute brought up a good question: What exactly is an American?
I mean, I live in the United States of America and I guess I assumed, for a long time, that that made me an American. And, I guess, I also assumed that anyone living here with a large percentage of white Anglo/Saxon heritage in their genetic makeup was, in fact, also an American. But even that's limiting. Shouldn't anyone living in North or South America be deemed an American? Despite their true race? Despite the color of their skin? Crusher seems to think so.

In the middle of this whole debate, however, a light bulb went off in my head. And now, nursing my wound, I've also had time to contemplate just what it does mean to be an American, and I've come up with this:
There are no true Americans. (Except, maybe, Native Americans.)

We (us here in the states) live in a land, (geographically speaking), that was initially populated by other cultures, creeds, races and relocates. (Now 'foreigners' to us). If you strip everybody to the core, it doesn't matter whether you grew up in a Kansas suburb, middle-class, shopping at giganta-malls in your mini-vans and slurping up Starbucks. (Which is the bulk of what we call American today - by the way - consumerism being the cancer it is) AMERICANS JUST DON'T EXIST. Racially speaking.

We are bits and pieces of everywhere and everybody. Even here in the United States of America. That's why we've had to come up with terms like African American and Asian American. (Which is probably what our cart pusher was)

From now on, I think I'll refer to myself not as an American - because that would be inaccurate.
And not as a French Italian Anglo/Saxon - because that would be too difficult and weird.
From now on, I'll merely hold to the only thing I can definitely put my finger on. Geography.

Just call me a Chicagoian.