"I didn't know what discrimination was then"

The story of my great-grandparents coming to America isn't one that's new to me. As long as I can remember, my grandmother has loved to tell me about how her father came to New York City from Ireland to make a better life for his family. It only recently truly hit me that my grandmother is first generation American. Yes, it's always something I've been aware of, but I just completely digested it's meaning. My great-grandfather was lucky enough to actually have his family reach the "American Dream"... and quite quickly.

As the story goes, my great-grandfather left Ireland in May of 1921 because the famine that was occurring at the time was not a situation he wanted to raise a family in. If you ask, my grandma will go into great detail about the name of the boat that he traveled on, which city it left from, what the city is named presently, and will be happy to show you pictures of the ship. At the time, you needed to be sponsored to become an American citizen, so my great-grandfather lived with my great-grandmother's sister, so he could become a citizen before my great-grandmother and their, then, only daughter could become Americans as well. By August of 1921, the Bensons were all reunited, living as a happy family in busy New York City, without having to change their name I might add.

My grandparents are some of the most positive, loving people I know. Any of their entertaining anecdotes would support that statement. I could tell you numerous stories that make my grandmother seem like she was completely oblivious to the fact that she, and my grandfather, grew up in one of the most dangerous cities in America, but for the sake of staying on topic, I'll refrain. However, I will tell you that when I asked Grandma what type of discrimination she faced growing up within our lengthy phone conversation she responded, in her true fashion, "Oh, honey, absolutely none." I was shocked and protested, "Grandma, really? None? You're telling me you grew up in New York City as a first generation Irish-American and came across NO discrimination?" She went on to make an even more shocking statement saying, "I didn't even know what discrimination was growing up." She then explained that she grew up in an apartment building that was all immigrant families. predominantly Irish-Catholic. Mid-conversation, my grandfather busted onto the phone telling me how the Irish had worked their way into the police force and the women were working for the wealthy families by the time they were growing up, so in their neck of the woods, there was little room for discrimination.

The Benson Family is now on it's third generation of Americans and within that short amount of time, we've come a long way from that small apartment in the boroughs of the city that never sleeps. In my opinion, the American Dream has been met and I am so grateful to the great-grandfather I was never able to meet with. No, we are in no way upper-class, but every generation has gone to some type of schooling after high school, and thus far has proven successful in the working world. That chance that my grandmother's father took, thankfully, turned out successfully.

My Very Own Individual-Cultural Dilemma

I grew up in a small town. I mean, a really small town. I graduated with a class of about 60 students I had known since I was first thrust into Mrs. Matthews' kindergarten class. I can still, to this day, tell you every single person's life story. As you would expect from a small mid western town, it was fairly rural. There was a field across from my house, even though I lived "in town", a majority of the vehicles in the high school parking lot were clunky pick-up trucks, and, in all seriousness, many of the students were related in some way, shape or form. This is where I called "home" for eighteen years of my life.

So, I know at this point you're thinking, "Okay, Jessica, you grew up in Hickville, USA. What does this have to do with anything?" Let me stress once before going on, this was the only place I lived from my conception until the fall of my freshman year at UIC. This small town is the community that shaped me and made me who I am today. Contrary to what many would assume, though, I do not drive a truck, nor have I ever driven one; I do not have a southern accent; and I wouldn't DARE get mud on my cowboy boots.

During school, my high school years especially, my individual behaviors and my expected cultural behaviors were constantly conflicting. A lot of the time I didn't feel like sitting in someones pasture, drinking and listening to country on a Saturday night. Future Farmers of America had no appeal to me, either and I never did learn how to drive a stick-shift. I don't want to make it sound like I was "the weird kid" in school, I wasn't, but I certainly wasn't the majority. I was listening to music that I felt, at the time, was totally revolutionary. My hair was a different color every month. I had big city dreams while others dreamt of building homes on their parents' land. It was so hard for people to understand why I would want to leave the only home I'd ever known. It was frustrating to not have my peers accept my goals as practical.

Since then, I've learned to find middle ground. Being in the big bad city, I've realized that I acquired more rural culture than I had originally thought. I love going home on occasion and having a friend take me mudding, sitting in an open pasture with a group of friends under the stars is a refreshing change sometimes, and sometimes it's kind of fun to bust out the southern twang that never stuck. Part of the cultural identity I thought I had no part in, was actually instilled in my personal identity all along. In order to manage the tension, all I had to do was find a way to effectively combine the two in a way that felt natural to me.