I have been trying to be an "American" all my life. I didn't realize it, though, until I got older, because I always thought I was.
The first hint of what would become an adult-life struggle came when I was in elementary school. The other kids surrounded me and demanded, "What are you?"
I didn't know we had to be something. I replied surprised by the question, "I'm an American."
Maybe it was the insecure, hesitant manner in which I responded that prompted them to proclaim like a church choir singing a popular refrain, "No you're not!"
I went home and asked my dad. It was just after the 1967 Arab-Israeli War. Not too much after. The war only lasted six days. My dad was shocked. "Don't tell them you're Palestinian. Tell them you are Syrian, or Lebanese. Imagine. Back then, it was okay to be Syrian or Lebanese.
When the kids surrounded me again, and demanded to know, I replied, "I'm cereal. But I think my mom is a Lesbian."
We were all cereal that summer. We had no idea what a Lesbian was. Two years later, all of us, my family included, fled from Chicago's Southeast Side when one family that couldn't answer that question to anyone's satisfaction, apparently, soon followed. They were black.
We never met black people before. We heard about them. A lot, especially from the realtors who swarmed through our neighborhood like summer wasps. No pun intended.
We had a serial killer who murdered eight student nurses who lived not too far from our home. Street gangs. Drug dealers and teachers and priests who were pedophiles. No one wanted to sell their homes then.
The Southeast Side Chicago neighborhood around "Pill Hill" -- a warren for doctors and their lawyers -- once had the largest concentration of Arabs and Jews living together, even after the 1967 War. Strangely back then, Arabs and Jews got along because "Americans" hated both of us.
Maybe it was relief that prompted everyone to move, although for a long time, I thought I was the "black people."
Did that make me an American? Or was it military service?
My dad and an Uncle served during World War II. When they enlisted, the Army grabbed my dad, George, but they sent my uncle to the Navy, where they thought he could do some good. His name was Moses.
My brother was a Marine and I served during the Vietnam War in the Air Force, when my draft number came knocking hard at my college door.
Being in the military gave us a special reason to put the American flag out in front of our home. For a long time, we and a few other families with military members were the only ones.
Veterans Day. Memorial Day. Flag Day. Holidays. The flag was out there.
Then on Sept. 11, 2001, I woke up one day to find nearly every home on my block, across and down the street and all over our neighborhood, displaying American flags.
It seemed like they were all pointed at my home.
Employees where I worked started pointing a finger at me, asking "Why did your people do that?
My people? I try to tell them I'm Palestinian. I come from a place consumed with violence, murder, killing, bombings, hostage taking and government agencies that show absolutely no respect for the people they supposedly serve.
Which is why I live in the suburbs and never go back to Chicago any more.
Weeks after the terrorist attack, a little old lady came up to me and asked a serious question. "I can't believe you abandoned your Christian faith to become an Arab."
Another neighbor threatened to kill me. I'd get mine, he vowed.
When the local police went to investigate, informing him I was a red blooded American -- okay with Tahini colored skin -- and I came from a long line of military veterans. The man told them, "I'm so sorry. I threatened the wrong Arab."
Americans. They are the most educated people in the world, but the least educated about the world.
They can't tell the difference between a Pakistani or a Palestinian. An Indian or an Iranian. A good president or a moron.
Actually, Chicago and the Middle East share much, however. We both have dictators who can barely speak English.
Ray Hanania is an award winning columnist, author, radio host and standup comedian with the Israeli-Palestinian Comedy Tour. You can reach him at www.hanania.com.
Posted May 5, 2008 | 09:09 PM (EST)