What does an American look like?

"I was once in an elevator in Singapore" the Master of Ceremonies told us "when someone asked me where I was from."
"I'm from America"
"Really? You don't look like an American."

"Since that day," He went on "I've often wondered...what does an American look like? Well if you want to know, take a look around the room. Look at the person standing next to you. That is what an American looks like."

So I looked around the room and saw black people, white people, yellow people and brown people. I looked at the Asian man on my right, the African woman to my left. Young and old, male and female, healthy and infirm. The only thing we each had in common, was that a few moments before, we had been officially pronounced citizens of the United States of America.

We'd been told to 'dress respectfully', which for me meant collecting my good jacket from the cleaners and selecting a tie. One gentleman was wearing a tuxedo, most ladies were in smart dresses, but some were in jeans and one muscular gent, the combat uniform of the US Army. A well-worn combat uniform. I had a chance to observe all this as we huffed our way up the hill from the parking lot to the theater in which the ceremony was to take place. I noticed some people were finding this more of a challenge than others and I wonder if it was perhaps the final test to weed out those not fit enough to be US Citizens.

Once inside, we were met with a scene of mild chaos. People stood in lines chattering excitedly, while cheerful staff manned numbered card tables. Having not read my letter properly, I hadn't realized I was supposed to be in line for table # 1, so I took it as a good omen that by sheer chance, this was the table to where my line led. Once there I was given a blue slip of paper (others had red or white), which dictated where in the auditorium I was to sit. "Come back here after the ceremony," the lady said, "and collect your certificate." I was also given a touchingly dorky little American flag, which I was unable to bring myself to wave, although most other people had no such inhibitions.

Into the theater itself, and my allotted seat where for 45 minutes or so, I watched a much larger American flag projected on a large screen at the front while stirring march music played in the background. This included to my amusement, John Paul Sousa's "Liberty Bell", which may be more familiar as the theme music for "Monty Python's Flying Circus".

Finally the M.C. stepped up and the proceedings began. We started out with a short video showing similar ceremonies around the country and I think it was at this point I first began to appreciate the significance today held. Watching the emotions playing out on the screen, the people crying and laughing, praying and hugging, I'll admit I felt a bit of a lump in my own throat and even though Dear Wife was at the back of the hall with the camera, I wished I'd arranged for a few more people to join us for the ceremony.

There were a handful of speeches next; all blessedly short and for the most part, quite amusing. One guest speaker, a teacher originally from China explained that while he was comparatively well off by the standards of his village, his $7 a month salary wasn't enough to achieve the dream of owning his own car. "I wanted the feeling of speed!"

When he finally made it to the United States a friend gave him a Chevy Impala (a very large, boat-like car) as a gift. "That first day, I took it out on the freeway and put the pedal to the metal. I was doing about 25 miles an hour while all the other drivers blew their horns and roared past me but oh, it was great!"

The M.C. explained that we had 291 people here, from 68 different countries, which he then read out in turn, from Afghanistan to Zambia, while we each stood when heard our own country's name. In the interest of time, he had asked us not to clap until we were done; but when he called out 'Mexico' and almost half the room stood up, everyone spontaneously burst into laughter and applause. Almost the entire theater were on their feet by the time he called "United Kingdom" so I couldn't see who else stood then, but the next person up was my neighbor, from Vietnam.

Finally we were down to business, and with our right hands in the air and flashbulbs popping like the Superbowl kickoff, we repeated the lines which make up the oath of allegiance. I hadn't even realized how far along we were in the proceedings until the M.C. announced:

"Congratulations and welcome, to the newest citizens of the United States of America."

People began hugging each other and crying, and as I shook the hands of my neighbors, even I had to wipe a bit of grit out of the corner of my eye. Who knew it would be this emotional?

Admittedly, the mood was almost spoiled when they played a recording of Lee Hazelwood's saccharine musical diarrhea "Proud to be an American", which had me looking around for a vomit bucket, but soon we were outside taking photos in the sun, each proudly holding the certificates confirming our citizenship.

I hadn't been overly excited about today. To me, becoming a citizen was just another step along the road; like obtaining a driver's license, or renewing my passport. Just something one did. If it wasn't for the fact that after 14 years here, I wanted to be able to vote politicians into office, (and out of it), I may never have taken the leap.

My family didn't suffer any political repercussions from me moving here. I didn't swim any rivers, didn't run through a hail of machine gun bullets, or spend days floating on a raft in the open sea. I simply navigated through bureaucracy and while that may have been trying at times, it was small potatoes compared to what some of these other people had no doubt been through.

So to sit in this room and watch people sitting with tears streaming down their cheeks, or smiles splitting their faces, and in many cases both, I finally realized just what a big deal becoming a United States Citizen actually was.

So if you want to know what an American looks like...click here.