Once, what seems like a lifetime ago, I went back East to visit family in July. A friend from Barrow accompanied me. She was 14 years old. We stopped to say hi to Grandpop Rocco. Grandpop had come to America from Italy in the early part of the last century. My friend, being Inupiat, could track her roots on this continent back thousands of years.
As I introduced them, Grandpop stuck his hand out, smiled that beautiful smile of his and said to her… with an English/Italian accent that was thicker than the sauce on his Sunday pasta… “Welcome to my country!”
Happy Birthday, America.