The Old Country

Every American within a couple generations of their imigrant ancestor has experienced this, regardless of ethnicity: Conversation turns to the family's homeland, and grandma rolls her eyes and dismissively waves her hand, tartly exclaiming, with vast exasperation, "the old country!"

This is a conversation stopper, not starter, which makes it tantalizingly unsatisfactory for the rest of us. But, to her, no further explanation is necessary. Either you know or you don't know, and she knows, and one person knowing is quite enough. Enjoy the land of opportunity, and...better you shouldn't know.

Whether you're Belgian or Australian; Jewish or Egyptian, if your family's been in America less than a century, you'll have witnessed this scene. And, weirdly, the phrasing is always the same. There are so many ways to express it, but all Americans of a certain age use this precise term: "The Old Country!" Also the hand wave and eye roll. It's more American than eagle pie.

So then you go live in Europe for a year, and something peculiar happens. It gradually dawns on you what grandma meant.

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That last paragraph was the natural place to end this slippery posting, but you'll surely want examples. What, exactly do I mean?

Alas, I'm as tongue-tied as your grandma. Either you know or you don't. All I can do is to roll my eyes and wave my hand (though with an affectionate grin which never arose on any American grandparent's face, because, unlike them, I have mere months invested in this experience) and exclaim "The Old Country!"

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Ok, ok, how about this: if you don't get lunch at the exact same time as everyone else, you'll either starve or be forced to resort to Burger King. No slices or falafel or egg/bacon/cheese on a roll; that stuff's all garbage here. You sit down at the appointed hour and take an expansive hour to attentively dine, exchanging templated pleasantries with your career waiter, or else eat like a rat.

But that's just one thing. And grandma didn't build you a list because she knew that any handful of things would have made you focus on those specific things...when she was really referring to the entire weighty bundle of things.

I'll always retain my affectionate grin, though, because I knew what I was getting into. The liberties, looseness, and lightness of America, of which I was keenly cognizant, stopped seeming persuasively worth it. At this juncture in American life, The Old Country, despite its institutionally heavy, creaky thrombosis, feels more salubrious.

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One exception: you don't hear African-American grandparents performing this rite, though more likely due to the wider generational distance than the barbaric conditions of their "immigration". I do know one recent African immigrant, however, who refuses to eat traditional African food with her fingers. Her eyes roll and her hand waves. The old country!

To me, she couldn't be more Jewish if she were bobbing her torso over an altar and droning in Hebrew.