The New Americans

When I was younger, probably somewhere around this glorious age of 15/16:

Just look at that angst.

my family and I spent some time in Australia. At that time, with both the Bush administration and my horrible awkward teenage years in full gear, I had a real love/hate relationship with telling people that I was American. Mostly a hate relationship. It's great to be from a country that has had such importance and such a powerful influence, but that also means that people, for better or for worse, will have a strong impression of you before you even open your mouth.

Despite the fact that Australians are some of the nicest, coolest people you will ever meet, I used to get in little tiffs with people who badmouthed Americans or were critical of us. Childish at best, mean at worst. It was a tough time. I remember a substitute teacher I had for an International Relations class made some off-the-cuff comment about how her country's influence, she was English, could not be bought, unlike the United States. I stood up, furious, and made a scene, saying that she was wrong and shouldn't be talking that way because she was a teacher and I was offended, etc. She told me to get a thicker skin. The whole thing, looking back on it, is kind of embarrassing. Whether she was right or wrong for saying that, getting up and yelling is the worst way to try to get your point across.

Flash forward to 2011.

The majority of young Americans I have met who live and work abroad are interesting, consciencious, mature people. Most of them are really interested in learning about where they are and about other cultures. Most are self-sufficient and independent. Most spend more time listening to others than they do talking. Most of them I am proud to call compatriots. Yes, there are your drunken study abroad idiots and morons on vacation, but the fellow teachers or volunteers or students or workers I have met in Spain and elsewhere are great people.

Today, having some delicious seafood in the center, the waiter was talking about a group of Dutch kids who had been there who were in a tuna, or a group of musicians from a University that are sort of like wandering minstrals.

Tradition from the middle ages.

Asking what city they were from, he replied, "Mastreeck." with his Andaluz accent.

"Maastrich!" I repeated, comment that my dad has had several post-doc students from there.

"Ah, is that where you are from?" he said, giving my blond hair a once-over.

"No, she's American."

Yes, and pretty proud of it.


Now, oh readers, it's true that:
everybody has their own set of stereotypes and personal experiences.
it is impossible to generalize about an entire nation of people.
there are exceptions to every rule.

But I would say that a big lesson I learned from when I was 15 to now is that when abroad you represent your country and yourself as best you can. For me, I'm pretty happy with the image us Andalucía teacher folk are giving off these days and am proud to count myself in that group.