“CrossRoads”

I sat at dynamic crossroads and I was unsure what to make of it all. I had flown into Regan National Airport only a day and a half earlier, I breezed in and out of the airport, as I was on my way to an important board meeting. Today I had some time to sit back and take it all in: the interconnectedness of our nation, our world and our differences.

The Father stood there intently watching the President of our United States making an address to the nation, “We are determined to continue to stay vigilant in our fight against terror…” across from him sat a young lady—she would be described by the color of her skin and associated with the Black/African-American population—adorned in a red bandana, red sneakers (some may call tennis shoes), and a red t-shirt—I am sure if red denim jeans were as in as they were in the 80s’ this young lady would have had them on too. Sitting close by were two young marines, dressed in their funny marine costumes with the shinny shoes and the buzzed hair—respectable looking, not necessarily respectable. In ear-shot sat the future WASP of America, decked in their Gap, Polo, and American Eagle attire attached to their mobile phones, North Face backpacks and the current purse of the fashion season.

At the moment I heard no different languages, but I clearly saw the different tongues of culture as they spoke through fashion, body language, and the American variation on English.

He played a game on the laptop, sitting, of course on his lap, she read a book on relationships—I assume hoping to give her some insight to her own failed endeavors, sharp tongued she told her dad “I don’t feel like waiting!” and then ended the conversation.

I am not American born, but I was American acculturated and to these means at many a moment I feel more American than anything else. Sitting here in the Capital, the crossroads of our nation, at an airport, the crossroads of travel, I feel so unsure of who I am and where I belong. I do realize how all of this, they, we are connected—it’s all so important and so under valued at times.

More American than apple pie, well I suppose right now that is rather simple since apple is not American in its origin. I am no writer. I have no sage advice to share. Enjoy it, take if for what it is, I know I did, do, will.