The “Not So American” Dream

While many immigrants attempt to fully assimilate into American culture, some are unable to let go of their past and fully adopt the American way of life. This is especially true for my family. While my family has put effort into becoming more Americanized, they fall short in many ways. The Calandra family left nothing behind in Sicily. In addition to their fully packed trunks, my parents and grandparents imported their strict Sicilian traditions and moral values. Even routine rites of teenage passage become unique hurdles, as though every decision must be relayed to the familial home office in the “Old Country” for an antiquated ruling. My family’s rules are strict and often annoying, but seemingly harmless. Then again, maybe their strict rules are not as harmless as they appear. Americans pride themselves on being futuristic and innovative, yet thousands of immigrants come to the United States every year and bring with them their own outlook on life. These same foreigners start families and rob their children of a modern American upbringing and childhood? Families living in the United States who do raise their children as they would in their homeland are performing a social injustice.

Many arguments exist surrounding immigration in the United States but rarely are these arguments discussed in terms of the effect it has on generation children. The incentive to immigrate to America is usually the same no matter the original country; it is in pursuit of a better life, a different life. If this is true, why do immigrants cling to their culture with enclosed fists instead of fully embracing the American way of life? In many cases, well after the voyage, immigrants continue to speak in their natural tongue, celebrate specific holidays exclusive to their homeland, as well as practice exclusive traditions. Immigrants also raise their children just as they would have in their country. Not only can this mix of two very different cultures be confusing to children, but this confusion also prevents children from taking advantage of American’s social advancements. It is a social injustice for parents to ignore the American way and stick to their usually dated, foreign outlook on parenting. My Italian family has done just this and I am here today to out them and tell my woeful sob story.

Growing up in such a strict familial environment, I came to believe that boys would someday become an enormous problem and that only the bravest would dare to cross our threshold. Little did I know, no boys would be coming through our door for a very long time. I am eighteen years old and I have never been on a proper date. Contrary to the mental pictures that this statement may infer, I am not a hermit who sits in her room all day and I certainly do not have a socially repelling disease that disfigures my face and body. I am a normal, non-offensive-looking teenage girl with extremely strict parents. I got my first taste of how different my parents were compared to other parents, when I was ten years old and my parents refused to let me go on the class trip to the town museum unless they both chaperoned.  As embarrassing as it was to be the only student sitting on the bus, squished in-between her parents, I assumed that it was an isolated instance; I was sadly mistaken. Now, fast-forward a few years to the junior prom. Not only was I unable to go to the grade’s pre-prom or post-prom, but also, going with a date was absolutely out of the question. I had two options: I could stay home and participate in family board game night or go to the prom with my older cousin, Lorenzo. I unwillingly chose option two. Keeping an optimistic mindset, I thought that my parents would outgrow the smothering when I turned fifteen or sixteen years old, yet seventeen rolled around and I was considered responsible enough to drive a car but still, not to date. When it came to matters of the heart, I eventually learned to save my breath. The conversations always go the same way, even to this day. “Adriana, we trust you; we just don’t trust boys,” my Dad lectures in his heavy, Italian accent. “I used to be a teenage boy too, believe it or not, and I know the way that they think. They are only after one thing. Do you know what that thing is?” “Yes Dad, I know,” I manage to say as I cross my fingers and hope that he does not say what I know he inevitably will. “Sex.” The conversation usually ends here as we both embarrassingly leave the scene with the sour aftertaste of that one syllable word.

There is no black and white instruction manual on raising children. Parents have the right to put their own spin on child rearing. With that said, they do not always do right by their children (whether intentionally or unintentionally). My parents, along with other parents similar to mine, did not intend on making me suffer but that is exactly what they have done. I had a wonderful childhood but it was certainly different than that of the majority of American kids. I have never attended camp, gone on a date, or even had a sleepover. I may have technically been born and raised in the United States, but my parents made sure to raise my siblings and me no differently than they were raised in Sicily back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth.