It's Ash Wednesday

At dinner Ruth asked, “Where are you from?”  This was information that I thought she knew well. I said, “Well, mostly Idaho. Most of my growing up years were there, and ten years of Sam and the boys and my life.”  Raphael said, “That’s what all Americans say. You ask them where they are FROM and they tell you where they have LIVED.”  Ruth said, “My kids have never lived in Mangamba (Raphael’s home village) but if you ask them where they are from, they will say, ‘Mangamba.’ If you ask where I am from, I will say, 'Vanga.'" It’s the Congolese village that Ruth’s parents – who were both orphaned – were from.

I said, “Well, what am I to say? Three of my four grandparents were from England, with at least two ancestors on the Mayflower in 1620. The fourth grandparent’s parents came from Germany, but I don’t know where.”

I added that having been raised in the West of the U.S, I’m even more removed from somewhere to really be FROM. My father’s parents came from Vermont to Montana in 1903. My mother’s parents came to Oregon from Ohio and to Ohio from Connecticut. So when I am asked where I am from I take it to mean where I have lived. Raphael said, “My children have never lived in Mangamba, but if they are asked where they are from, they will say Mangamba because that’s where I am from.”

In my experience we Caucasian Westerners are all very far removed from our ethnicities. When Sam and I lived in Scranton, PA it was far more important whether you were Irish, Welsh, Italian, Polish, or Russian. As a “Smith” I always felt pretty vanilla.

Both Ruth and Raphael reflected how different Americans’ way of looking at their origins is – how different the meaning of the word FROM really is. I was reminded of the Navajo. They are much more deeply rooted to a piece of land which is the place they come from and the place they return to for major family events and ceremonies.

Originally published: March 9, 2011