I was surfing the TV channels just before midnight last night and came across a program called “Growing Up Greek”. Well, how could I resist. I watched about 5 minutes of it. It was not any Greek ambience I could ever relate to. The people were 30-somethings … apparently related – I didn’t watch long enough to sort out the connections. Tattoos were major. One woman had tattoos covering her entire arms and ditto one of the guys. Their conversation was common as in clueless and uneducated. Maybe this is a generational thing, or whoever made this program thought this was really about being Greek. I saw not the slightest resemblance to any Greek I have ever known, except maybe for the ones who hung out in Italian neighborhoods and were mob wannabes. Yeah, we had some of those, but they weren’t the norm.

The language was nowhere. These were definitely American kids without an ounce of Greek personality. Perhaps they are 3rd generation. I am first generation, meaning my parents were born in Greece. Greek was my first language, with English absorbed because that’s how kids are. They absorb language if they are surrounded by it.

I easily connect with the foreign born or those who are also first generation. I get instant acceptance from them. It is as if we have a special connection that we all recognize immediately. As a child I was too open. If you go to Greece, you will find Athenians aloof, but if you travel in the countryside you will be greeted with warmth and welcomed. This is the personality I inherited and it didn’t play well in America. I was an alien personality in my school and was often shunned. I didn’t know why. I did make a friend as in one friend. The same was true in high school. One friend. I learned to be self-sufficient and enjoy doing stuff on my own.

One of my connections with Edward is that his father was foreign born, his mother was born here, and he was raised by his foreign born grandmother. We have a European approach to life. I have to wind his down sometimes because the male version can be self-absorbed as in dropping one’s coat knowing that a woman in the house will grab it up before it hits the floor. I have enough American in me to redress this inequity when it rears its head.

Greeks, Italians, those of Jewish descent, all adore their male children. It makes marrying one a project. My mother was told not to have any more children after my sister was born (a Caesarian section birth). But my father wanted a son. I was also a Caesarian birth. What a disappointment I must have been.

The movie, My Big, Fat Greek Wedding, was closer to the truth. And the main character Tula, was first generation. They didn’t make the movie with the family scenes all in Greek with English titles, which might have been closer to the way things were, but they did well, particularly with the father, whose Greek mindset was obsessive and maddening. I know that man.

Anyway, I closed down the TV thinking that there is no point in seeking out Greek venues because if these are the American born Greeks of today, they aren’t people I want to know. Ed asks, sometimes, if I want to attend a Greek church service for the cultural re-connect, certainly not for the religious one. Well, everything is in English these days so where is the connect? We’ve been to Greek restaurants where none of the wait staff speaks Greek. Hiss Boo. Really? αυτή είναι η ιστορία μοu (this is my story).

xx, Teal