There he was at John Kennedy Airport the day I landed back from England, Green Card in hand, a resident alien of a nation I had dreamily traveled so many times by finger on the National Geographic maps spread on the living room carpet back in Lebanon. I am not big on providence or cosmic coincidences. This one is an exception. It would be nice to think that the day I arrived in the United States I fell in love with it and set my mind right then to making a pilgrimage across its 50 states, my 50 Meccas. It wasn't the case.
Immigrants become American only with time, if they do.
Many die still broken-hearted for the old country, their American adoption having been a convenience or a filial sacrifice. Many are crushed by the prospect of making it here. He wasn't wrong. But I had everything going my way. I was 14 and adaptable when I arrived, I had an American father to ease the transition, not to mention pay the bills of choice schools.