no place like home

My grandson put his hand in his pocket to retrieve a chocolate candy bar. What he took out was a mess in a wrapper. It had melted. The candy bar was useless and his pants needed to be changed as well.

I blew out the candles on the dining room table only to find that the wax had melted and was now ruining the finish on my wooden table. It has gone through the beautiful table cloth and was now in the process of defiling the table surface.

All the kids wanted to do was put a carrot nose and button eyes on their snowman. But the weather didn’t cooperate and Frosty melted into a puddle before the kids got to enjoy their labor.

The cocktail party was a big success, except for one thing. The ice bucket was empty, just a pail of useless icy water remained. The warmth of the festivities had melted the once crisp frozen cubes.

You killed her! Hail Dorothy! The bucket of water had successfully melted the Wicked Witch of the West. She simply shriveled up and died a puddle of her former self.

A saddened child, a heartbroken hostess, a form of murder!      

Melt……...........................Melting……......…………..…..Melted.

So why is it they call America, or more specifically New York, a “melting pot”…..like it’s a good thing?! But maybe they did get it right….we are melting, puddling and becoming useless as the immigrants come and refuse to acclimate, use our language, and salute our flag.

The block I grew up on looks like the Middle East. The mothers wheeling baby carriages have most of their faces covered up with a burkha, their speech unintelligible. The men all have skull caps and dark swarthy skin. There is no eye contact with anyone not shrouded or weather-beaten. I am an American. I am the stranger here.

The neighborhood I grew up in, just blocks from the street I lived on looks like Bejing. The store’s signs are all in Chinese lettering that no one other than themselves can read.
Zao An Ba Ba instead of Good Morning, Xie Xie instead of Thank you. All this politeness falls on deaf ears…I speak (and hear) English. I am an American. I am the stranger here.

The places I shopped as a teenager and worked as an adult have been flooded with Ukrainians who refuse to speak English when there is another Russian present. As you walk down the street you can almost see the Kremlin in the distance. The local high school even allows its students to take the NYS Regents in Russian. I took it in English. I am an American. I am the stranger here.

I’m melting, melting……what a world, what a world!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qfV_ENR5IZE