Hallway of university drama department situated in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Several classrooms line the hall. Female seated in hallway, early 20's, long dark hair in a braid, dark-rimmed glasses, wearing all black, studying a script.
Time
Year 2000, mid-afternoon. Classes are in session as girl waits outside for session to begin.
(Two African-American males exit a classroom, heading in girl's direction. Begin whispering to each other and stop to talk to her.)
MALE #1: Hey girl, what's your name?
GIRL: Me?
MALE #1: Yeah, you the only one here!
GIRL: Milena.
MALE #1: (Whispering loudly to his friend) See, I told you... (To the girl) So, where you from?
GIRL: Troy, Michigan.
MALE #1: Naw, where you really from?
GIRL: Uh, I was born in Royal Oak, Michgan.
MALE #1: (exasperated) Naw, where's your name from?
GIRL: Well, my father's Serbian and my mom is Croatian - but I was born...
MALE #1: That's what I'm talkin' about.
MALE #2: Yeah, we knew it.
GIRL: Knew what?
MALE #1: You ethnic. We knew it. But they don't know it.
GIRL: (perplexed) Who doesn't know...what?
MALE #1: White people! (Laughing) They don't know you ethnic, but we know it. We're practically brother and sister, you and me. We both ethnic.
GIRL: (blushing) I guess so.
MALE #1: You know it. Don't you forget it. We gotta go.
(Men go back into their classroom. Blackout.)
*********************************************************
I think about that little vignette from time to time. But let me backpeddle a bit. Last night I was slated to perform at the Serbian Hall in Detroit. The evening was full of ethnic festivities, from the food, to music, to the cheesy t-shirts imprinted upside down with "If you can read this, you've had too much šlivo!"
As I was sitting, enjoying an old man's rendition of a folk favorite calling himself "Dr. Guza," which translates to "Dr. Butt" in English, I thought to myself how weird it was that this all seemed perfectly normal to me. At one point my husband leaned over and said, "You know, this is just like the Italians, except somewhere in here there'd be a donkey!"
It reminded me of that story, where those two boys called me out on being "ethnic." Whether it was a quirk of my all-black outfit or not, I was flattered and excited they felt that way. I often wonder if I really do look ethnic, as my parents surely do. This plays into feelings of vanity for wanting to be noticed, to be special. But on a deeper level I think it signals my desire to remain connected to the ethnicity of my parents and ancestors. Slavic people are a crazy bunch, known for their hot women and even hotter tempers. They don't call the Balkans a Powder Keg for no reason. You can thank us for starting all sorts of wars. Sorry.
But, we're not always warring. We like to have fun, to sing songs, drink, and act goofy. We love color, we love drama, we love the finer things in life, and even old guys pretending to be butt doctors for a laugh.
I've felt such a deep love for the Slavic cultures for so long, and last night was no exception. I arrived early to rehearse with an awesome band from Pittsburgh, Junaci, which means "Heroes." And I was able to watch the arrival of gorgeous Serbian and Croatian women streaming in, wearing all black, and perhaps a little too much makeup. Men, with moustaches only my father's could rival, leather coats, dark features. Appetizers included olives, feta cheese, and ham piled on platters, dinner was stuffed peppers and potatoes, red wine, followed by great entertainment. The Serbian Hall was where I spent many weekends as a little girl. I remember being 4 or 5, running around the checkered floor, dancing wildly amidst the fog of smoke and the blare of wild kolo music. I remember setting up chairs to go to sleep when my parents were off dancing and the clock was hitting 1, 2am...my childhood was spent partying, reveling in music, dance, food, life.
And I want it all back.
So, my sister and I are starting a website dedicated to all things Slavic. We're going to extend the reach to all the Slavic cultures, not just the ones we grew up in. We'll debut it soon!
3 Comments:
I'm about as white as they come (Irish and English), but my wife is Cuban and Sicilian. Which makes it interesting, because our son is now considered Hispanic by the government census. But, he ended up with red hair and blue eyes. So I wonder if he'll ever get noticed in the hallways at school.
Sounds like a wonderful childhood!
Not to sound corny or anything, but I love the "voice" of your writing - it really captures your vibrant energy (if that makes any sense).
Sheila (from TAW group)
@ norcross - first off, your wife must be stunning! Second - irish & english is nothing to sneeze at (my husband has a bit of that in him) But if you wonder if some of the cuban/sicialian will be hiding behind his irish eyes...you never know. Not only was I randomly “called out” that one time, but on more than one occasion I’ve been asked where my accent is from (don’t have one) or if I’m part African-American (which I’m not).
@ sheila - My childhood was a lot of fun…and thanks for your comment about my writing, The Artist’s Way has helped me feel more comfortable expressing myself. Sometimes I feel vibrant, sometimes not so much, but I hope my writing is becoming more “honest” (if that makes any sense…)
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