MY FATHER'S COUNTRY

My father fell in love with America, her people and with just about everything that he had experienced in this beautiful country. America had been so good to this Filipino who had nothing but third grade education, broken English and a great sense of adventure. He spent 33 years in the US Navy, rising to the position of Chief Petty Officer. Upon retirement, he went back to his country of birth but came back to the US years later with his family.

My father joined the US Navy as a 13-year old kid during the American occupation of the Philippines. He added three years to his age and ate a lot of bananas to gain weight. It was easy then to falsify his age.  Off he went to the United States and countries he only knew about from the geography books.

Growing up in the Philippines, I heard a lot of stories about America.  "God’s country," my father used to call her. He told us how generous and compassionate Americans were. They were honest, hardworking and always ready to help those who were less fortunate. They were Godly.  As a young man my father was mugged in one American city. A Christian man came to his aid and helped him find faith in Jesus Christ. He was so in love with this country that in our extended family, he earned the nickname “The Americano.”

When I first came to the US, I found most of my father’s stories to be true. We made friendships quite quickly. We found kind Americans helping us adjust to our new culture. Within two weeks of my arrival, a woman at an employment agency, coached me, gave me tests and found a job for me. When I was hired I could hear the pride in her voice as she talked to the man who hired me. “Didn’t I tell you, didn’t I tell you. She does not even have an accent!” (But I did!  She just didn't hear it.)

Three months later, through a new friend, I found a better job with a manufacturing company. The hiring manager told me, “I will make you the best purchasing personnel we’ve ever had!”

I can tell countless stories of all the wonderful experiences we’ve had as a family newly arrived from a third world country. The church family that welcomed us provided us with a loving community. One of the biggest thrills I had was listening to my father pray in Tagalog in a completely Anglo congregation. Only our family understood what my father said, but the congregation always added their “amen” to it. They respected him and loved to hear him pray. I married an American, born and raised in California. His family accepted me with open arms. 

Though, yes, we’ve had our share of difficult adjustments to our new culture, America has been very kind to us. We found the people to be just as my father used to tell us, with a few exceptions. We felt safe, very safe. We, in fact, felt that America was the safest place in the world.

But things have changed, I don’t know when, why, how. 9/11 changed American life forever. Three thousand people were killed on a morning that was supposed to be just like any other, as they went to work and about their business. Then there was the Columbine shooting, the Newtown killings, and others. And just a few days ago, the Boston Marathon, the oldest sports event of its kind and the most iconic became victim to another vicious attack. What has happened to this beautiful country?  Why?  My heart aches. 

A lot of people dream of coming to America.  From across the American borders come many who risk life and limb to come here to find a better life.  But lately, there are also those bound and determined to destroy this country.  And each day, we find more and more of them. I am saddened, angry and confused.  I keep asking why, when and how did things change in this country?   Please forgive me if I am trying to find simplistic solutions to very complicated issues. 

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