“Congratulations, you’re an American.”

“Who did you vote for?” I was at a friend’s grill-out in a suburb just outside Athens, Greece. This question came to me in August, 2006, months before the congressional elections that led to a wave of Democratic representatives taking over the House and Senate. To most Americans, this is a rather personal, if not rude question, but apparently I fielded it well. “Not George Bush,” I replied. In his machismo but charming Greek accent, my friend Adonis replied, “Good girl.”

This was a question I was frequently, and to me surprisingly, asked during my time in Greece when I interned for the Associated Press. This question also began what I consider part of a life quest I’ve only begun to pursue.

What defines America and its people? Politicians like George Bush? Big TVs and cars? Stylish metropolises such as New York and Los Angeles? Big people? Traveling overseas tends to make me more self-aware, as people inevitably ask, “where are you from?” At that moment, I give them the simple answer: “the U.S.” But it then forces me to think more deeply about what that means and how others perceive it.

When I think about the countries I’ve traveled to, I am humbled. Greece has an ancient history dating back thousands of years, and present day Greeks continue to brag about their still-standing ancient architecture and hold grudges over battles lost many generations ago. Italy has an incredibly rich history (i.e. the Roman Empire) and attracts international travelers with its huge, ornate churches, among other attractions. Present-day Peruvians are still influenced by the ancient Incan culture, an empire that spanned the better part of the western South American coast for many years.

So I am left with the question of how to define America. Our country is so young. While traveling outside of the U.S. has led me to a rough draft of a definition, I naturally look inward at my own family and its history. While it isn’t as rich as a whole nation’s history over thousands of years, it is nonetheless important and defining to me.

I’ve only heard the anecdotal, abridged version of my family’s history, so my knowledge of the real story is rather limited. My paternal grandmother’s ancestors came through Ellis Island during Ireland’s potato famine, and they eventually ended up in East Chicago. My mom still talks about a wedding she went to in the 1970s with those relatives. My dad tells me that the aftermath of that wedding included my mother eating cake she had stepped on and my dad brushing her teeth for her. Needless to say, the Irish Catholic side of the family lived up to its stereotypes and beyond.

My paternal grandfather’s family came from Germany, which to this day has influenced our family’s prudish but prudent spending habits. My maternal grandparents came from Wales and England (we think), and had a modest Pennsylvanian upbringing.

I know my family is only a small part of a microcosm that is American culture, but that nonetheless helps me begin to answer my question. In the end, though, I still feel empty and that I am missing a bigger part of The American definition. When I traveled to Peru this summer, I was with a group of teachers. I became close with three of those teachers, who were infinitely interesting people with unique stories and perspectives on America. Mel was born in England, spent her childhood in South Africa, came to America for college, and has lived in near the East Coast ever since. Diego was born and raised in Venezuela, then moved to the U.S. with his mother when he was 13 so that she could pursue a master’s degree. When asked about my own family history, I gave a quick version of it. I jokingly complained about its lack of flavor, but without a second thought, Diego just looked at me and said, a bit dully, “Congratulations, you are American.”

In Diego’s case, I think there are a lot of inequities that he has faced that I probably will never experience, which is sad. Diego and many other more immediate immigrants have a more authentic family history, and thus, a more cultivated perspective on American culture. Diego’s stories and others’ make my family history seem boring. And in a lot of ways, it is. I imagine a lot of other Anglo Americans share a similar family history (maybe minus the Chicago cake incident).

Traveling abroad can be a very uncomfortable experience. Not in the terms of rustic lodging or lack of sanitary bathrooms, but in terms of finding and defining yourself with such conditions as your backdrop.

While I will continue to grapple with my question, I always fondly think of one friend’s answer to my question. I don’t consider it the complete or final answer to my question, but an interesting part of it.

My friend Katy, who I met in Costa Rica during a conservation project in 2008, and I were talking about American politics and Obama. While she was intrigued with the thought of a black American president and questioned whether we were “ready for it,” I said I thought we were ready, but that I hoped we could come together and end the polarization that George W. Bush had brought to our country. And then, a surprising answer from her: “One thing I wish Britain had that the U.S. has is a sense of unity. No matter what happens, Americans will come together for a cause and fight for it. They can depend on one another. We don’t have that (among the countries) in Britain.”

One beautiful theme we do have in the U.S. in unity. I guess we aren’t called the United States for nothing. For better or worse, we can, and often do, come together as a force, and a strong one at that. I can only hope that others around the world similarly define the U.S.

An unusual commute

Morning commutes to work are usually a rather boring endeavor. For most people, it’s just another part of a daily routine. Some view it as a time to amp up and mentally prepare for a day at work.

My daily commute from Central Phoenix to Glendale is just that. However, when I do break out of my sleep-deprived morning brain fog during the drive, it can be rudely awakening to observe my surroundings. I pass six strip clubs and at least three trailer park communities, all in a depressed, industrial-looking part of western Phoenix. Despite the less-than-aesthetic surroundings, it helps remind me why I choose to teach in the under-served community that I do. During my recent trip to Peru, I took an even more insightful commute to a school community that I don’t think I could’ve ever imagined.

Toward the end of my trip to Peru, we were near the capital, Lima. We stayed in Miraflores, a well-to-do suburb of the capital. I traveled with a group of American teachers, and part of our trip involved a school visit to a school community about an hour south of Miraflores.

We boarded an over-sized, air-conditioned bus to ensure our comfort during the drive. As we pulled away from our hotel, our tour guide announced that the average income in Miraflores was approximately $5,000 U.S. That may not sound like much to the average American, but in Peruvian terms, this neighborhood was a haven for Peru’s elite — families here could afford to send their children to national universities and lived in mansions overlooking the Pacific Ocean. And then our tour guide mentioned one of the more staggering statistics I’ve come across lately — “For every two minutes we drive, the average family income decreases by $200 (U.S.).”

When I first arrived in Phoenix, I found the city’s layout strange. Driving up Central Ave., I could pass one of Sen. John McCain’s seven or so houses and some of Phoenix’s more elite properties. Go less than three miles west, and drivers are in a low-income neighborhood filled with run-down houses and trailers. Continue heading further west, and drivers pass a hodgepodge of neighborhoods, many of “average” income, and many more with varying degrees of wealth.

But to drive south of Miraflores and watch the neighborhoods’ average income drop so rapidly was a stark realization. I looked out the bus window as the average family income slipped away with every passing mile. Mansions became modest houses; modest houses became dilapidated; dilapidated houses turned into shacks with tin roofs. We had been transported from the bustling Peruvian capital to a vast, empty desert with sand dunes dotting the distance. Our bus driver pulled off to the side of the highway and we got off the bus. It was hard to not be taken aback by our surroundings. Sprawling communities full of shacks surrounded us. I’m sure I was not the only traveler to wonder how so many people lived in the middle of a windy desert with no running water. We took a short jaunt across a bridge over the highway, and noticed a group of smiling women. They quickly greeted us with “Buenas dias” and even a few hugs. One woman opened a heavy iron door. As soon as we stepped over the threshold, applause erupted. About 150 kids were standing in organized lines nearly jumping up and down with excitement — school had let out hours ago and although they were told to go home (the students don’t get lunch at school and hadn’t eaten since breakfast), all of the students were too excited to leave. They had waited hours to greet our group of 16 American teachers and show us their classrooms.

Like the surrounding community, the school buildings and classrooms were rustic. Class sizes were smaller; no class had more than 20 students. Students aged 3 to 14 attended this school. As we met the teachers, they proudly displayed their students’ work, and, funny enough, students’ parents’ work. School supplies were so limited in this school that the teachers depended on families to save a part of their meager income and use that to buy or make usable school supplies. Looking at the supplies from the 5-year-olds’ classroom, I could tell those parents had spent hours making manipulatives and small books for the children to use.

When I look around my classroom, all of my materials are store bought. I have some student work on display, but by and large, everything I have was provided to me by my school district, which, in turn, is supplied by tax dollars. In Peru, a much smaller portion of government expenditures is put toward education. Government dollars that do go toward education are given to schools ravaged by earthquakes, for example, that have classrooms and buildings that are barely standing. This school and community was making do with what it had.

And, even more impressively, they were doing so with extreme pride and humility. It was not out of the ordinary to the families that their classrooms were seemingly bare and lacking many resources that teachers here take for granted. Everyone there was working hard to ensure his or her children got the best education possible. If that meant taking a fairly significant part of a family’s weekly earnings, then so be it.

As I walked around the campus, I was humbled and amazed. At one point, the school’s principal expressed her concern that they didn’t have a computer lab. Once the 14-year-olds “graduated” from this school, they went to a bigger junior high much further away. Once they started there, they were at a huge disadvantage, given they had little experience with computers. When our group asked what and how we could help, she suggested helping their school set up a computer lab. Students at the school (including the students in the 3-year-old classroom) would walk to the local Internet Café owned by one of the school’s parents. However, the owner still charged students one sol (about $.30 U.S.) for an hour, and not all of the students could afford this. On the day students were to go to the Internet Café, those who didn’t bring money stayed behind. Those who did have the money walked the equivalent of several city blocks dangerously close to the highway. On one trip, a stray dog bit a student. The principal was hoping that money donated to the school could help solve this problem.

This story struck me for many reasons. First, the teachers, parents, and principal seemed unfazed by this situation. Their bigger concern was the fact their students weren’t getting the computer experience they needed to succeed. Many Americans, including myself, often get upset about the apparent lack of importance of education here in the U.S. While Peruvians do value education, the funding for it is much more limited. The Internet Café story here would be an outrage; there, it was an unfortunate situation that could hopefully be solved with some financial help from others.

After several hours of tours and a question-and-answer session, the principal asked for donations. It may sound crass to you as a reader, but it really was an honest, forthright request. Shipping computers and related supplies to Peru would be extremely costly (not to mention risky, as the school not only lacked a mailing address but the packages stand the high chance of being searched and confiscated), but giving financial support in cash or money order would be helpful.

I chose to donate to the school. Even though my donation was relatively small to me monetarily, I felt such a great sense of gratitude from the school’s faculty and parents. One of the many reasons I love traveling is that I meet new people and learn more about their day-to-day lives. Traveling abroad always makes me realize how well-off and even spoiled we are here in the U.S. To us, it seems that many others around the world have so little. But many of the happiest and most generous people I’ve ever met live outside the U.S. Not only was this a powerful school visit as a teacher, but an important lesson as a traveling American.

How much money do you spend a week on coffee at Starbucks? On a drink at a bar? On renting a movie? When I look at my personal spending habits, I could save enough for a used computer within a couple of months if I were to forgo a few drinks here and there. Now think how much five old computers would cost. Better yet, maybe you have an old computer you could donate. Regardless, if we united and donated, we could make a world of a difference to this school.

If you are interested in donating, the money would go through Global Exploration for Educators, the group I traveled with. Send an email to janetnester@yahoo.com with any questions or specific details about donating.

Janet's Call to (written) Action

“Newspapers’ Worsening Woes.” “Twelve Major Media Brands Likely to Close in 2009.” Recent headlines make it clear that newspapers have gone by the wayside, leaving towns and cities across the country without. No more than five years ago, my college professors protested and agonized that “One Paper Towns” were on the rise. Now, mid-size cities such as Seattle and Tucson don’t even have a daily paper.

Perhaps more worrisome to me are headlines such as “Many would Shrug if Local Paper Closed.” Do people just not care about the news any more? Are they just too lazy to read their news?

Occasionally I wonder if my journalism degree is obsolete. I specialized in News Writing and Editing (i.e. newspaper writing) and earned my degree just over three years ago. Granted, the news media has changed dramatically since 2006, and my professors did put forth due effort to make sure we were trained and prepared for today’s media world. But I feel unprepared, in many ways, to take the dive into the new media world.

While the skills I learned in journalism school might need some updating, the passion I felt while earning that degree (and still feel) keeps me believing in the importance of news. Even though its outlets have changed in many ways that many of us never would have imagined, it is still an essential piece of democracy. Without the news, the way our country works would be very different.

One of the most inspiring quotes I choose to live by is one by Thomas Jefferson: “Were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers, or newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter.” This quote drives me in my daily work and life. This may seem ironic given my current work circumstances. I detoured from the assumed path of one with a journalism degree, and I now work as a teacher in Glendale, Arizona. I am one of the several thousand Teach For America alumni still working in the classroom. While I love my job, but I still feel a constant itch, so to speak, to write. I want to help others get the unbiased information they need to function as knowledgeable citizens. I’m hoping that this blog helps to serve that purpose (albeit, in a very small way).

I don’t expect anything grandiose from this blog. This is rather a personal endeavor that I think will give me a chance to write about topics I deem important and moving. Some may find the topics equally meaningful and thought provoking, maybe even enough so that they take action.

Starting this blog is exciting to me; however, I approach it with caution. Writing anything, especially something like this, is a drawn out process that I take very seriously. When artists of any sort create something, they are putting themselves out to all of the critics of the world. I feel the same way when I write. However, no matter how intimidating it can be to put your work up for others to criticize, it is an essential process. My fear in this is that I don’t have an editor. I am the only one responsible for these words, whereas in the past, I published after several people surveyed, opined over, and edited my work. With this, I will just have to let go and hope for the best.