As I got older, I grew more insistent on staking a claim of meaning and relevance to my ethnic background in the US culture. I still continue to do this, except it has been moderated by a story my Dad told me…

It seems that, where my Dad worked, there was a fellow who changed his “unpronounceable” and uncomfortable Eastern European name to “Wallace.” He also joined the Masons, a group to which many “Anglo” muckety-mucks belonged. However, joining the Masons was strictly taboo for members of Mr. Wallace’s religion.

Soon, Mr. Wallace was promoted to become a supervisor. He became accepted and a member of the establishment and a muckety-muck himself. Then, my Dad told me, when Mr. Wallace got to be in a high position, he made sure he hired nobody except people of OUR ethnic background.

After some more conversation, I asked my Dad how he got hired on, and predictably, his answer was that Mr. Wallace hired him.

My Dad seldom came out and taught me right from wrong in a straightforward manner. He usually would present situations to me, and then let me draw my own conclusions. In this case, I suspect that he, like me, looked askance at people who gave up the ethnic and familial heritage that their name embodied, until he saw how another who had done this had blazed a trail for him.

I think that Dad’s lesson was that we each have to make our own decision about such things, and that we ought to be careful about being judgmental when others have to make choices, as well.

However, I would like to remark that such tribal and racial distinctions, in this nation especially, are out of place and are particularly odious to me, perhaps because of the pain I experienced as a youth.

I’d also like to mention that I enjoy a good Rajnikanth movie as much as the next South Indian does… ;^)