A letter to my fickle friend

Dear America

I used to rather like you, considered you a friend. As a young woman you spoke to me of big skies, ranches, cityscapes, Little House on the Prairie and life, so much life. You provided the backtrack to my teenage years with Bruce Springsteen responsible for as much angst as I could muster. I would have given anything to have been Born in the USA. You created the movies and were a home to the movie stars. The rest of us ordinary mortals merely star struck. I couldn’t wait to visit, and so when the scheme to send Irish children across the pond came up both myself and my friend Oonagh were quickly on the list, her parents were on the organising committee, and while we didn’t strictly meet the criteria, as in we weren’t from the bomb struck streets of Belfast, we somehow made it onto that plane.

Our destination was Minneapolis, and we were staying with a host family called the Dodges, Dan Dodge being the local police chief. It sounded like a comic book to me, there was a big house with a great yard, a basement which was bigger than my own home and a way of living which didn’t just feel different, it was different. The Dodges enjoyed having Irish girls to stay of course, and we became a bit of a tourist attraction, come and meet our Irish visitors, they are just so darling.

Darling we were not, we were 17 and all we could think about was how we could dodge the Dodges. We wanted to meet young people, to drink Bud, eat big macs and go to Taco Bell and Dairy Queen. At home we had one lonely Chinese carry out. The church socials and yard BBQs were pleasant enough, but not America as we wanted to know it. We wanted white teeth, big smiles and cool sweats. We listened avidly to Prince, aching for a chance encounter with the American guy from the levi laundrette advert. In truth we just wanted freedom with the odd meal thrown in, being part of an American family who treated us like precious objects certainly limited that and when the time came, we were glad to go back to our own versions of family. The Dodges were only kind, they took great care of us, and we were nothing but thankless merciless teenagers.

A year later, and now at university we decided once again to give you a try, but this time we would do it our way. There was no host family, no sponsored flights and very little cash, but somehow, we made our way to Wildwood, New Jersey looking for work to sustain us, but really wanting to have the summer of our lives. We did; America you delivered big style. We worked in bars, cleaned rooms, did dishes, sliced roast beef, you name it, we earned our dollars, and just as quickly spent them on full blown entertainment. Wildwood lived up to its name and by the end of Summer we were pounds heavier, and no wealthier as we headed back to Belfast full to the brim with our future memories. For that long glorious summer not one of us had a work visa, and yet that’s what we did, we worked hard alongside Mexicans, Greeks, Italians, South Americans, all of us just getting on with that great big dream you talk about.

And like a friend I have returned time and again to see you, New York for the buzz, California for the wine, Florida for the rides. Like a friend you have welcomed me each time showing me a new version of yourself. You even gave us Friends for goodness sake and before long we were all there with you in Central Perk, deciding if we were a Rachel or a Phoebe, the theme tune still resounds in my home today, an easy comfortable watch on sombre days.

I have loved your welcomes and your warmth, the way you have assimilated the melting pots of people who have made your land home, those early settlers determined to have better lives. I have introduced my children to you, delighting in their delight when we made a recent big family trip to New York. They were keen to try bagels, travel over the bridge to Brooklyn and explore the vintage scene, the photos on my reels show only smiling faces. And as for the Dodges, they are well into their senior years now but still warmly welcoming Irish guests, old and new.

However as with some things friendships do not always stand the test of time, break ups happen, one friend moves on and the other is unable to join them for whatever reason. Attitudes change, and as we start to fray at the edges, there is little to keep us together and more reason now to be apart. You seem a little too concerned with being great again, and not so much about doing really great things. You, who were once a champion for the those who needed help, you, a big beacon of light for many. Oh, you shone so brightly and we all bathed in your sulphurous glow. You threw your arms wide open and offered comfort to so many. America, I have hope that I will see you again, and we will reconnect in better times, when there is less scarcity and more abundance, when there is hope and less threat, when there is sense and less carelessness. Until then I will seek out other friends both old and new, sad that we have got to this point, however I promise not to be a stranger, I will write to you again to hear your news, to find out how you’re doing, knowing that there is still a part of you that really wants to be my friend.

Regards

Joanne