54 years living in America

I remember the excitement when my mother told me that we were joining my father in New York. 

At that time in history and even now, moving here is a dream come true. After all the roads are paved with gold. The opportunity to move up the economic ladder is boundless.  If you study and work you can live a life of which dreams are made and seen in the movies or magazine pages for those not fortunate enough to be born/live in America.

I came, I saw, I loved it and my mother cried. For the first 6 months after we arrived here she cried everyday.  It was wintertime, it got dark around 4PM, and we lived with my aunt in Manhattan in an apartment in a midrise. Imagine the windows closed, the heavy clothing, not knowing your neighbors, not even seeing them.  That was what my Mom and millions of others experienced. 

For immigrant children, it was easier, we were not afraid. We rode the buses, subways, and trains, rode bikes and walked. We explored.

And then we the children became adults and the scales were ripped away and we saw the roads paved with pain and prejudice as we ventured out into the world.

In 1964, walking to the train after going on a job interview, a young woman and I struck up a conversation, which I remember to this day. The bottom line is this; she was having trouble finding a job because she had to be home by dusk on Friday. And in the winter that meant leaving work early and so no one would hire her. She was Jewish. 

I was hired for a seasonal job, and because of the education, that I had received before we came here; I was offered a permanent position, which became the stepping-stone for the life that followed.

Today how things have changed today.  I knew then that there was prejudice throughout the land.  Various ethnic groups disliked others and everyone disliked the Negros and Jews.  The dislike except for south of the Mason Dixon line was hidden behind closed doors. It was not discussed on radio, TV or written about in the newspapers.

Except when something bad happened, like the riots of the 60s, Kent State or George Wallace everyone pretended that life was good.

To be continued.