Every Saturday morning, my wife and I host an open jam session in Berryville Square during the Farmers’ Market. (The farmers arrive early; we erect a bright orange tent about 9.) It’s always different – we may play with professionals, amateurs, travelers, teenagers. Last Saturday tourists were wandering around the square, admiring the murals, strolling into the museum, taking selfies with the historical markers, letting their kids splash around in the fountains.
A couple of pals came by to visit and play guitar. I noticed a woman in a color-coordinated purple blouse and purple pants bustling about. Finally she approached us and gave my wife a hug. In our first year here, my wife volunteered for the Carroll County Literacy Council; this woman was her student back then and they run into one another once in awhile.
The purple-clad ex-student – now fluent in English – was proud that she had gotten a CNA (certified nursing assistant) license and volunteers on her days off at the ECHO clinic in Eureka Springs. That morning she was selling fresh homemade tamales, to help fund her daughter’s entry into Tulane University. Somehow, I found a twenty dollar bill in my pocket and we bought a dozen tamales.
In my youth, I lived in neighborhoods near Tulane, which called itself the “Harvard of the South.” In high school, I did research in Tulane’s library, where I felt like a college kid. I had some friends who went to Tulane, who got me into free concerts, lectures and movies. In New Orleans, Tulane was recognized as an advanced party school; nevertheless it is a prestigious university, and for this woman’s daughter to gain scholarships to study there is a major achievement. So Mom is selling tamales to help pay for the books, dorm, meals, etc.
I taught high school for 26 years, in which, early on, I recognized what I term “the universal parent’s wish.” Every parent, no matter how poor, rich, well- or poorly-educated, hopes their children will surpass them. It may be to grow the family business or continue the family traditions of public service as a politician, fireman, doctor or soldier – but every parent hopes their kids transcend whatever accomplishments they made.
Hence an immigrant woman, wearing Berryville purple, who attended English lessons at the local literacy council (before it faded away), cooks and sells tamales to help her daughter succeed at Tulane and volunteers at a Christian charity on her days off.
This is what the anti-immigrant people fail to comprehend. My wife’s grandparents came from Lithuania through Ellis Island, and met in Chicago. They had five births before one child survived – my wife’s father. Another child died from tuberculosis before age 30. So much for the American Dream!
My mother was a legal alien from post WWII Germany, a war bride. She forfeited her German citizenship, gave birth to five US-born American citizens, and died in her early fifties from inadequate health care. We five have all outlived her, and given her seven grandsons and two granddaughters. She only met the two oldest boys. One of my few regrets in life is that she never got to meet my wife and children.
Last week we had a conversation with a friend who is a Canadian citizen. Every year he ponders applying for dual citizenship with the US. “It’s the best place, and it is the worst place.” I understand that. We are proud of our Bill of Rights, and embarrassed about our wild west gun-totin’ murder sprees. We point out that Black folks can be elected mayors and senators, but we know they are more likely to be shot down or incarcerated.
We look sideways here in good ol’ Berryville at Pacific Islanders in their flip-flops and flowery clothing, but in a couple generations they will be assimilated. We say stabilize the borders, but we’re buying tamales, burritos, pupusas, avocados, Chinese take-out, Indian and Thai curries.
Think about them moms and dads – they’re swimming – and drowning – in the Rio Grande because they know, someday, their kids will succeed.
Kirk Ashworth