A Thought-Provoking Encounter

Today, while smoking a cigarette on the corner of Greenpoint and Manhattan Avenue an older man with an accent approached me asking if I spoke Polish. I apologetically responded telling him I didn't. This brief encounter left my mind racing with numerous thoughts, one leading to another.

Initially, I found this man's assumption amusing, concluding he thought I was Polish because of my physical attributes- blonde hair, blue eyes and pale skin. I didn't find this stereotype offensive, as I am part Polish and personally find it flattering when people think I'm European. I thought it was somewhat funny and almost cute and endearing the man chose to ask me instead of anyone else in the area. I also felt slightly guilty I couldn't communicate with the man well enough to help him, but knew he'd soon find help from someone else.

As the man walked away and I made my way into the subway, I spent my time waiting for the train and riding home thinking more and more about the different aspects concerning this encounter.

The man's assumption that I knew Polish led me to think about how I am part Polish and know virtually nothing about my heritage or the culture. This city is often referred to as a "melting pot" of cultures, or as a former high school teacher of mine preferred the term he coined "more politically correct," a "salad bowl." Just about any culture can be found here.

Since moving to the city, I've noticed anyone I meet who was born and/or raised here asks the question "what are you" upon meeting me. At first, I would stumble a bit, finding myself a mildly astonished and embarrassed. "I'm a mix of Scottish, Polish and German" I'd respond. That's about all I know. I'm not familiar with the languages or exactly how these cultures mixed to form my family and land me here.

All my city-raised friends know exactly where their family is from and when they arrived to America. They're also familiar with and often fluent in the language(s) of their heritage. Sometimes it's because they were born in another country. Sometimes it's because one or both of their parents still speak that language. Other times it's because they just picked it up from other family members, friends or neighbors.

This doesn't happen in other, less diverse cities and towns. No one in Upstate New York ever asked me about my nationality upon meeting. When I studied abroad, people asked where I was from and the only response I ever felt necessary was America and sometimes more specifically, New York. My childhood friends and college friends only speak English and a maybe little bit of the language school standards required them to study. Other than my friends who are 100% Italian or Greek, few people I know outside of this city rarely feel or represent close ties to their heritage.

Clearly when in a city filled with so many different cultures, races and religions people are more prone to get in touch with their own heritage, but why is it most other Americans don't seem to care or put much thought into it? Maybe people don't consider it something important. Perhaps they feel becoming fluent in another language is useless in a mostly English-speaking America. How come people don't study such things to gain a greater cultural knowledge? Why not learn these things simply for the benefit of better understanding other people and ourselves?

I'm left feeling a bit ignorant, with a desire to research my heritage and learn more about "what I am." I can easily spot the Hasidic Jews in my neighborhood, the Chinese people around Canal Street, people speaking Spanish and people from all over Europe with different styles of clothes and varying accents everywhere else. I wonder what people think when they see me. I've obviously been approached as a Polish girl once, but what about all the other people I walk by. There's so much we can all learn about others and ourselves. This is something I'm now eager to learn about and divulge myself in, and what better place to do so (without going abroad).