My dad’s nickname for me is Roots.
It comes from my oldest cousin who used to call me “cute” but as he couldn’t say his “c” sound, his “cute” became “toot.” So I was “toots” for awhile, until my dad eventually adapted it to Roots.
Roots. It’s an interesting word in the English language with a variety of meanings. It refers to each individual hair growing out of your body. It refers to the origins of a tree growing from the ground. It refers to the places we come from, to the place we decide to settle down in—to lay down roots.
I used to hate everything about my roots.
Because you see, I used to want to be French.
I used to want to speak flawless French, spend my summers on the beaches of the Mediterranean, eat baguettes for breakfast, and sip cafes on the restaurant terraces of Paris.
I used to want to fly my French flag, present my French passport, and have a French husband and bilingual children.
I used to want to be French.
I used to want to belong to a country who believed in accessible, affordable healthcare and education for all its citizens; a country who took religion out of government; a country known for its rich history, culture, and cuisine.
I used to want to be French.
I used to want dark, silky straight hair, a tall, slim, perfect body, and wear just the right amount of makeup with the most put together outfit.
I used to want to be French.
I used to wish I wasn’t American; I used to wish I had come from somewhere different. I used to curse my US passport and my US nationality. I used to hate being stateside; I used to resent everything about America.
I used to want to be French.
And then I moved to France. And I loved France. And I stayed in France. And I didn’t want to leave France.
But the longer I lived in France, the more I began to realize that France has its flaws, too.
And the longer I spent in France, the more I was able to see a newer, clearer me and the more I came to appreciate my roots.
I came to learn to appreciate me, and all the quirks that come with me.
I began to appreciate my American-ness, from the foods I eat, the beverages I consume, the films I watch and the music I listen to.
https://instagram.com/p/y-q_oDNnhB/
I began to like my big, unruly, American curly hair. I began to appreciate the life experiences I’ve had. I began to appreciate my country, my language, my culture, my passport, and my education. I began to love and appreciate where I was from, and how my country influences the world in which we live. I began to appreciate my roots.
I still love France. I still want to be in France.
But I love my roots just as much.
Even 25 years later, I think the name still sticks.
This is why Dana and I are friends. We share a love for all things French, but we’re proud Americans too.
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