[seahorse2]

I was invited to attend a creative writing class yesterday as a guest, an observer. When I got home, I wrote about my experience and what I learned. I'm sharing it with you.

THE AMERICAN I MET

It’s kinda unusual to see a middle aged Egyptian man in the Bible belt. It’s even more unusual to see a slender, middle aged, Egyptian man, from Oklahoma in the Bible belt. It’s really unusual to see a slender, middle aged Egyptian man from Oklahoma walking in the Bible belt wearing a cowboy hat, wrangler jeans, and cowboy boots. And its rare to see that same man walk into a public library in Fort Smith, Arkansas and sit down among a group of about 20 elderly white American women for a creative writing class. Now, understand what I just said, this was a creative writing class, not a basic English class.

This class was not for those seeking to learn the basics of English grammar, but for those seeking to master the art of English story telling. For this particular class, each “student” brought a picture from home and had to write a short story about it. His story, I had to hear.

I was invited as a guest, by a friend and fellow attorney, to sit in on this creative writing class to see if there was anything I could learn. I found it difficult, though, to listen to much of what the instructor said or the stories the other students read. My focus constantly drifted to the Egyptian cowboy sitting near me. I could see his picture sitting on the table in front of him, along with his short story. From where I sat, I couldn’t tell anything about either of them, except his story was typed. I didn’t know cowboys typed. I wondered what an Egyptian cowboy would write and waited for his story. Was he really a cowboy or was he dressing up? He was quiet like a cowboy, but that may have been because he was a foreigner in a foreign land.

Finally, it was the Egyptian cowboy’s turn to read. He described the picture he brought with him. It was a picture of the World Trade Center, before it was bombed. Wow, the possibilities ran wild in my mind. This Egyptian cowboy certainly had the courage of a bull rider to write a story about 9-11 in the Bible belt. This ought to be interesting. It’s a good thing we were sitting in a room full of women. Maybe, it wasn’t so courageous after all.

But, his story wasn’t about 9-11. It was titled, “The American I met.” I chastised myself for being so prejudiced. When a red blooded American male sees an Egyptian cowboy getting ready to read a story about the World Trade Center, he automatically assumes it’s a story about 9-11, but he automatically assumes wrong. It wasn’t a story about 9-11, it was a story about coming to America. Funny, I never did that. Being born here, I just assumed all Americans were too, never really thinking about the first thing that most people coming to America see is New York City, its big buildings, and never knowing the impression that leaves.

His was a wonderful story about his first moments in America as a fifteen year old boy, coming here from the Middle East, and the first American he met. It was beautifully written by a man that wasn’t born here, who had a greater command of the English language than I did, who understood the essence of the American spirit in the smile and face of the first American he ever met, a black man driving a bus. Everyone was very moved hearing his story, as he saw America in a way "we" only read in "our" history books, but this was no history book, this was the compelling story of a man sitting right next to me, today.

After he finished reading, the instructor then passed out pictures to the class and gave everyone their next assignment, which was to write a story about the picture she handed them. The picture that she handed the Egyptian cowboy was a black and white photo of a nameless family of tough, hardy, American pioneers sitting in front of a dug out house with a thatched roof, living somewhere “out West”, in a place that had no name, because no place had yet been named. But the names and places for this picture were unimportant, because the essence of the picture wasn’t about these people particularly, but about the essence a people in history that moved “west”, symbolic for the unknown, to forge a land we now call America. This was a picture that embodied the American spirit. We Americans treasure that picture now, like a family picture, but it was obvious to me, that the Egyptian cowboy sitting down the table from me, had more in common with the people in that picture than I did. It was nice to meet an American.

[Bas]

I really like it very much seahorse

[Pops]

Cool story, Horse.


I know an Iraqi Christian of about 50 who came here quite a while ago because of the conditions in his home. He became a citizen and bought a little print shop in CA and did OK.

I'd stop in the shop from time to time and his Iraqi-American friends would be sitting around drinking their favorite drink and they would switch to English and we would shoot the bull just like any bunch of old codgers would.

He sold his shop and went to work for the Army as a translator a couple of years ago.

Still over there as far as I've heard, a good American and a good Iraqi.

Americans are where you find them I guess.

[jlw61]

Great story, SH.

Americans are where you find them

Another priceless quote by Pops.

[CarlinsDarlin]

Wonderful story, Seahorse. In my former life (until about 10 years ago), I had the pleasure to know many people from other countries. I have known many people such as the man you describe (in Fayetteville), and many new immigrants to our country. For a time I worked with international students at the UofA. That part of my life has enriched me in many ways that most people around me now don't understand. They know I still like ethnic food but that's about as much as they can appreciate. It was a great experience, and I often think back on many of the people I knew, and miss them. Thanks for sharing that story.
kathy

[WildRose]

Good story, seahorse. I appreciate your talent for story-telling as well.

I moved to northern Alberta in 1969, at a time when almost everyone in the stores and schools was white and of European descent like me. Over the years, our community has become ethnically diverse and my friends are from all over the globe. What I've learned through this experience is basically two things: how much we all love to laugh and how central harmony in the family is to our wellbeing.