American Like Me

Reshma Saujani humorously addresses her white lies as a method of cultural assimilation. While ordering coffee at Starbucks, for example, she often tells the barista that her name is Maya because it’s easier to pronounce than Reshma. As a child, she disliked her name. Though Reshma is as common in India as Rachel is in the US, she felt her name alienated her while growing up. Even something as seemingly pedestrian as finding her name on a plastic keychain at a theme park would have made all the difference to her. Saujani grew up in Schaumburg, Illinois, and because of her name and appearance, she stood out: “Ironically, when you are the only one of your kind, it is difficult to be authentic” (3). More than anything, Saujani wished she were white American while growing up because it would have allowed her to fit in and not feel so lonely.

Saujani’s parents both have Americanized names, which added to her feeling of isolation. Her dad, Mukund, became Mike, and her mother, Mrudula, became Meena. Her parents, however, relocated from Uganda. It was a forced immigration by Idi Amin, a Ugandan dictator who exiled those of Indian descent. To better fit in as Americans, Saujani’s parents discarded their birth names. However, even this couldn’t ensure them good jobs and equal pay. Once successful engineers, both took service jobs—as a factory worker and service counter worker, respectively—upon coming to America. The more Saujani faced racism at school and at home, the more she wished that her parents had given her an American name.

Though Saujani initially wanted to be white American, her acceptance of her ethnicity bloomed after getting into a schoolyard fight with a bully who often derided her name. Later, Saujani started a diversity club in high school to both provide a safe space for people of color and to raise awareness/fight racism. The group, PRISM, put together an assembly where the school body asked them questions. Saujani credits this assembly with her ongoing approach to educating others by allowing them to ask her questions about her identity.

Saujani later formed Girls Who Code, a successful, national nonprofit. Moreover, Saujani has run for public office twice; she’s credited as the first Indian American to run for Congress. Now, Saujani feels that her parents changed their names and assimilated so that she wouldn’t have to. As a token of this realization, she named her son the Sanskrit word for pride: Shaan.

Al Madrigal is a popular comedian; his essay underscores his comedic approach to life by poking fun at his inherited frugality: “Madrigal men, as far back as I can find, have always been cheap. It’s in our DNA” (13). According to family lore, Madrigal’s grandfather, Liborio Madrigal, fled El Chante, Mexico after a fight. Liborio Madrigal fell in love with another man’s wife, and that man stabbed him twice. Madrigal encouraged the man to take their fight to a nearby field. He then killed the man with a machete and fled to the US.

Madrigal makes it clear that thinking all immigrants are cheap is a stereotype. Yet it’s a stereotype of which he and his family happily take advantage. His father, for instance, loves nice things but doesn’t like paying full price for them. Madrigal’s father taught him how to negotiate and Madrigal passed this love of negotiation to his kids.

Madrigal provides four easy guidelines he learned from his father to get by in life. The first is to “prey on the new guy,” whom Madrigal calls “the weak in the herd (14). For instance, always deal with the newest car salesperson because they have a lot to prove and need to make a quota by the end of the month.

The second guideline is to “show very little interest” (15). This means pretending not to want whatever it is that is actually wanted. This guideline seamlessly transitions into the third guideline, which is to “get deep into the process. Then walk away” (15). The idea is to looks as uninterested as possible, and also to prove there are better options elsewhere. This forces the salesperson to really want to sell.

The fourth guideline is, “Whenever possible, have cash” (15). This demonstrates the serous intent behind a transaction and also indicates an offer of everything in one’s pockets. By way of example, Madrigal explains how his father successfully bought a Mercedes from Boz Scaggs after the singer’s messy divorce, and later a Cabo San Lucas condo from a famous boxer in trouble with the law because he utilized cash both times.

Moreover, Madrigal’s father implemented another given by obtaining the car and the condo: “Deep sorrow” can usually lead to “deep savings” (16). Madrigal taught his own son this lesson one day at a garage sale. His son spied Pokémon cards and instantly wanted them, but they were in mint condition and therefore expensive. The father holding the yard sale harped on the condition and price of the cards. Madrigal analyzed the garage sale and realized that divorce was an issue. He played off his son’s interest, then walked away. He then gave his son $10 in cash and told him to hand the money to the youngest of the two sons manning the Pokémon. The young boy eagerly took the money, and Madrigal’s son, having scored the expensive cards, learned the family guidelines for getting by in life.

Jenny Zhang focuses on food and abundance; specifically, she recounts her family’s approach to the American dream and the concept of the US as the so-called Land of Plenty. Growing up, her family idolized Sizzler: “The rationale behind […] Sizzler was because dinner was so cheap that it made my parents feel rich. It was the highest order of indulgence, and I loved it” (21). The family’s obsession with Sizzler stemmed from a feeling of abundance and indulgence, and not from any deep love for the food (aside from a few things like ranch dressing). Zhang’s family abundantly ate at home because their diets included various ways of cooking that the American diet couldn’t conceive. Her parents often made fun of American food for its blandness and unoriginality. But Sizzler meant scoring more for less money. It was where her family could feel American: “Sizzler embodies the very essence of America—that even the poor could be greedy, overstuffed even, as they filled themselves on endless plates of food” (23).

Though overindulging to the point of sickness might seem strange to contemporary Americans, Zhang notes her parents both grew up in China during a time when millions of people died from starvation. There was never enough to eat—a fact that created generational trauma. Overeating at Sizzler was largely a performative exercise in experiencing abundance. This take on what Zhang calls “our consumerist-capitalist society” (25) eventually stopped once her family became more upwardly mobile; this underscores just how important access is to concepts of class and food justice. With more money, and living now in a better neighborhood, Zhang’s family was able to focus more on health and quality over overindulgence and the desire to “stick it to the man” (a common saying) by eating as much food as possible.

Soon, capitalism caught up with Sizzler. Prices increased while quality decreased, and the chain went bankrupt. Additionally, Zhang’s parents eventually grew a strong dislike for American food. Zhang retained her love for shrimp scampi and fruit punch—items she identified as uniquely American, an identity of which people reminded her she wasn’t while growing up. Despite the constant racism and xenophobia she faced—which are not given precedence in this essay—Zhang credits the travails of growing up with making her a stronger person. 

Bambadjan Bamba’s parents moved his family from the Ivory Coast to the Bronx in 1994 when he was 10 years old. Bamba recalls the culture shock of landing in the US: “For my family, moving to America meant falling from upper-middle class to poverty” (29).

Bamba pushes against the stereotypes of Africa as a homogenous but poor continent and Africans as ignorant by explaining a bit of his background before moving. Bamba went to the best French private schools, spoke French as an official language, and spent Christmases ice skating at a posh hotel. Moreover, his father had been a prominent banker in Africa. In the US, however, none of this mattered. In fact, Bamba’s intellect became a detriment to him while growing up in the Bronx. Students ridiculed him as a nerd, an assessment of intellect that people praised in the Ivory Coast. He also couldn’t speak English, which caused his Bronx school to not only hold him back a grade but to place him in ESL with all Spanish-speaking students.

In an attempt to help Bamba fit in, Bamba’s school assigned him a student helper named Alpha. Alpha was a French-speaking student from another African country. Despite their differences, Bamba initially felt relieved to meet someone who looked and talked like him. The feeling wasn’t mutual, however, and Alpha tried hard to embarrass Bamba at every turn. When Bamba had enough, one day he snatched Alpha’s milk and drank it. Alpha challenged Bamba to a fight. Bamba’s strict father warned him not to fight, to always be the better man in America or he’d end up in jail. Bamba tried not fighting back, but after the fight with Alpha, his father found fault with him for not taking life seriously. Bamba soon became the brunt of everyone’s jokes and caught racist nicknames from classmates. Undeterred, he used American TV shows like Gargoyles and The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air to learn English.

Once Bamba learned English, he worked on his appearance. People in his neighborhood judged others on appearance, and Bamba was too poor to wear the shoes and clothing considered “cool.” He began working at a store as a bagger, finally bought a nice pair of sneakers, and instantly garnered respect.

Like fashion, hip hop also changed his outlook on life. Bamba credits The Fugees, Snoop Dog, and other artists for raising him. It wasn’t until his new group of friends asked him why he never represented his roots that Bamba realized how hard he’d been running from the past: “While I was trying so hard to become American, I internalized all the pain and anger” (35).

Bamba set out over the next several years to examine why he’d felt such shame about being African. Through acting, Bamba came to understand just how much of an emotional blockage he’d allowed to build up. His quest to be American had been a performative one, but he was now ready to start a journey of self-acceptance.  

Bamba connected with other Africans in New York as part of his journey to accept his roots, and he also began studying African and Black role models like Bob Marley, Thomas Sankara (a revolutionary Burkinabe president), Martin Luther King, Jr., and others. By accepting his heritage, Bamba realized that his past defines who he is as an American. He now knows that the revised version of himself, the man and American he has become, is the true definition of cool.

With the very first sentence, Padma Lakshmi defines both herself and the essay’s focus: “I have never been a religious person” (39). Lakshmi’s mother, by contrast, is deeply religious. Since there were few places in America that allowed Lakshmi’s family to practice their Hindu beliefs, Lakshmi’s mother enrolled her in Catholic school, with special instructions that Lakshmi was attending not for the religious aspect, but for an education.

Lakshmi compares Hinduism and Catholicism. She thought Catholicism was an easier religion for a number of reasons: The names of saints and prominent figures are easier to pronounce, there’s not a pantheon of major and minor gods and goddesses, and Mother Mary and Baby Jesus were more visually appealing to her. Lakshmi’s mother was a pious Hindu, and she sent Lakshmi to India every summer in an attempt to protect her “Indianness,” as Lakshmi calls it.

In second grade, when Lakshmi returned from India after summer vacation, her mother took her to the new Hindu temple in Flushing, New York. Lakshmi didn’t like the temple experience, especially as the bare-boned temple looked noting like the grand temples she viewed in India. Her mother, however, loved the temple, which puzzled Lakshmi:

[My mother] was living out her own American dream of self-reliance, financial independence, and liberated freedom. Which is why I was so baffled by her shackle-like connection to our arcane belief in an elephant-headed God […] (42).

Lakshmi’s family moved to the San Gabriel Valley after she graduated elementary school, and one day she fell ill. The flu turned out to be an extremely rare case of Stevens-Johnson syndrome and her mother brought her to City of Hope for treatment. Lakshmi suffered from mutism and blindness while recovering in the hospital. When she left the hospital, her mother drove the family to a temple in Malibu to offer prayers. On the way home, they were involved in a car accident requiring a helicopter to airlift her parents to the hospital. Lakshmi still has a scar from the accident. This ordeal caused Lakshmi to abandon most if not all aspects of her faith and religion. She couldn’t understand why God would allow such a terrible thing to happen to people who were already suffering.

Lakshmi explains how life has a peculiar way of bringing things full circle. Though she tried distancing herself from religion as much as possible, when she was in her thirties, she received a call from a friend who asked to meet her at a Hindu temple in town. Lakshmi agreed and to her surprise, the temple looked just like the one from her childhood, only grander. She and her friend, Rajni, found a table in the temple’s eatery and Lakshmi fell in love with the Indian food.

When she returned home, she checked and verified that the temple was in fact the same as the one her mother used to visit. Her mother seemed relieved that Lakshmi had visited, and Lakshmi returned again for the food. She notes there were other reasons for her return, including a lover’s terminal illness, legal issues, and other adversities that caused her to seek solace in a familiar place.

With that visit to the temple in her thirties, Lakshmi’s life took on new meaning and she found connection with her heritage through food. When she began bringing her daughter to the temple, she too fell in love with the ambiance and food. Now, Lakshmi celebrates the Hindu holiday called Divali at home with loved ones and lots of food as a way to celebrate togetherness and her past.

When America Ferrera contacted Randall Park about crafting an essay for the book, he initially thought he’d have nothing to say about his parents or his past. “It’s not that I don’t love my mom and dad […] But here’s the thing: I barely know them” (49). Park goes on to explain that for many American-born kids whose parents are Korean immigrants, details about life before America aren’t so forthcoming. Park compares his parents to more of an instruction manual than a detailed story or history book. Park grew used to his parents’ terse manner, but as he got older, he became more and more curious about their life in South Korea. When Ferrera called, Park took it as the perfect time—and excuse—to query them about their past.

To help ease them into answering questions, Park took his parents to a famous Italian deli the family used to frequent. He also contacted his mother because he knew if he could get her onboard then his father would follow. To his surprise, his mother agreed to the meeting, and the three began the journey of exploring the past.

Park learned that his parents met in their hometown of Taegu and his father studied at the famous Sorbonne in France. They were married due to an arranged marriage setup and then moved to the US. Park’s mother faced instant culture shock because her reality as a poor Korean was so much different than the America she saw on television. Park also learned that the reason his parents never forced their children to stick to Korean traditions was because they simply didn’t have the time or energy. His mother and father relentlessly worked to provide for the family.

Park admits the interview with his parents helped him to not only get closer to them but to get closer to himself:

Despite being born and raised in the United States, there was always a part of me that felt like an outsider. […] But upon hearing these stories, I began to feel more anchored to both sides of me (55).

Park also credits the interview with opening his parents up to further discussions about their past. He learned a lot more about his parents, but wants to keep some of the information for a later time. He suggests to readers that, in an effort to better understand family history and document it, they should also take loved ones out to eat (or someplace that makes them comfortable) and then query them about their past.

In a short essay, author Roxane Gay tackles boundary issues with Haitian parents. After mentioning a therapy session to her mother in which she talked about boundaries, Gay’s mother affirms, “Boundaries? There is no such thing with your family” (59). Gay further explains that, like other first-generation children, she had to live with “multiple truths” and “multiple identities” (59) while growing up. What others would call intrusiveness was common at home. Her friends, for instance, had parents who allowed them to close their bedroom doors—something forbidden in Gay’s Haitian household. Her parents also concerned themselves—even at present—with their children’s lives so much because they expected great things and wanted to ensure these things happened. Gay admits, “All of this expectation was intense, but I know no other way of being part of a family, of being loved” (60).

Though she sometimes felt overwhelmed by such a fierce love as a child, Gay now cherishes it. Her parents are now her friends, and even with her success as a writer, they still parent her. She provides an example of her parents following her on social media and calling her out when she uses profanity. But they’re also there, along with her extended family, to root her on with every success. When one person succeeds and breaks barriers, everyone does. It’s a communal type of love that Gay now wholeheartedly embraces.

Carmen Perez grew up in a multicultural neighborhood in Oxnard, California and credits this diversity—along with dance, music, and basketball—with helping her cope with the death of her sister Patricia at 17 years old:

Nothing saved me from the difficult day-to-day in my hood like rapping, playing ball, dancing, and putting on a front of hardness. Hardness with so much joy underneath because I was with my girls (67).

For Perez, community equals extended family. Though her neighborhood was rife with gang violence, racism wasn’t one of the issues with which Perez or her friends dealt: “Ironically, I look back on it as a wonderful little bubble where I could be whoever I wanted to be” (67). Though their mother is Mexican and a devout Catholic, Carmen and Patricia weren’t so “monolithic” in their identity. Perez credits basketball and dance as defining who she was. And the diversity in her friend group meant she experienced an assortment of food and culture from different ethnic backgrounds all the time.

Perez also credits her basketball coach, Coach Pat, for keeping her and the other kids on a progressive path. Pat was Black American and didn’t speak Spanish. He brought the girls to church with him, but Perez’s parents didn’t mind because they knew she was in a safe space whenever she was with Coach Pat. Regardless of the drama on the streets, Coach Pat could effectively deescalate any tension by having the girls focus hard on training for basketball.

In this way, Carmen’s multicultural team became an extended family. Coach Pat instilled five core values to his players, and Perez continues to live her life by these values. The values are: “Never Give Up,” “Dedication,” Determination,” “Confidence,” and “Family” (70). These values especially came in handy when the girls left their neighborhood for away games. These trips were the only times when they experienced racism from other teams in predominately white towns (they even had their car windows smashed during one trip). The family Perez made with her teammates helped her deal with other injustices, such as when the police pulled her brother over and hogtied him without cause, and later when Patricia died in a car accident.

Perez’s world became a bit more muddled when she visited Mexico after Patricia’s death. She wondered why her mother had never connected her to this side of her family before, and why her mother never pressured her to embrace their Mexican identity. This feeling amplified in college when she began to learn new terms like “people of color” and “Hispanic”—two terms with which she never previously identified but were now identity markers. Shockingly, a Mexican student on campus also told her that she wasn’t really Mexican because she didn’t speak Spanish.

Amid the confusion of college and learning new terms for identity, Perez learned about “intersectionality,” which she describes as “our overlap of cultures, races, and ‘social disadvantages’” (74). This term hit home with Perez, and she realized just how blessed she was to have experienced an intersectional childhood. From this point forward, Perez made it a goal to encourage intersectionality in communities to better understand others, something for which she passionately advocates.

Comedian Issa Rae details a failed attempt at celebrating Ramadan as a teenager. To her credit, says Rae, “Ramadan is a beautiful tradition, but I had not grown up developing the strength or discipline to properly celebrate it the way so many of my family members had” (77). She went into the experience for selfish reasons, despite also wanting to make her family proud. Much of her desire to celebrate Ramadan stemmed from her desire to further connect to her father’s Senegalese side of the family.

Before her parents divorced, Rae’s Senegalese father and Black American mother would visit Dakar, Senegal with Rae and her brothers. Rae would always have the best times in Senegal, a place where she often felt she could be her “nerdy self” (84) without rebuke. In America, she struggled with being Black, pudgy, female, and nerdy. In Senegal, however, she marveled at how so many women shared her body type. Partly to understand her father’s Islamic beliefs and also to feel closer to him (and to religion in general), Rae returned from Senegal and announced she would observe Ramadan.

But Rae neglected to rise early and eat before sunrise, so she spent her days hungry and “hangry” (78)—a slang word that combines hungry and angry—at school. She also gorged on food at sundown without thought to her intent in fasting: “The idea is to focus on what you can sacrifice and give, not what you wish you had more of” (78). She affirms she isn’t trying to make fun of Ramadan, which she deeply respects, or to even make herself look good for trying something out of her comfort zone, but to highlight the fact that she was searching for something at the time, and that “thing” happened to be religion. Though she doesn’t presently consider herself religious, church had a major influence on her growth as an actor/comedian. She staged her first play at church and spoke in front of others for the first time at church, as well.

Rae has fond memories of Senegal. She mentions the ever-present gender roles, but states that women receive better treatment in Senegal than in the US. She and her cousins also spent quality time together, instead of watching TV or glued to phones. When she returned to Senegal after her parents divorced, she became far more fascinated with Islam upon seeing the strength her cousin found in the religion. Rae apologizes to Islam for seemingly going through the motions as a teenager. She does, however, feel she learned how to respect those who can fast and embrace belief. She credits her spiritual journey during that teenage year with helping her to better understand others and better connect with her father’s side of the family.