The New York Boy

Growing up in New York City has its own perks.

I come from a Muslim background. My parents were born and raised in Tunisia, and migrated to United States in 1987, three years prior to my birth. I am born and raised Muslim, but honestly I do not know what I am. Perhaps all the hustle and bustle in New York did not let me think it out thoroughly. Anyhow, that is a subject for another time.

I moved to Saint Louis, Missouri a few months ago to work for the science museum in Forrest Park after my graduating from Rockefeller University last year. After coming here, I found I had very little exposure. I have a degree in Physics. I never had any interest in politics or culture. Now I know how uneducated I am about my own country. Forrest Park is a good place. We wear casual business for work. I was hired here to be part of a research team that works on remodeling the museum to attract more visitors.

I am wearing light yellow dress pants, light purple checkered shirt, brown belt, and a brown pair of shoes. It is steaming hot outside. Thank God I am indoors. I met this strange woman, probably in her 70s, today. She had wrinkled skin, brownish eyes and short height but straight back. She came to our museum with her handicapped husband in a wheelchair. She is visiting St. Louis from New Albany, Indiana for a day. She stopped me to ask for some guidance while I was on my way to lunch. I guess she knew from my attire or badge hanging on my pocket that I work here. She was looking for the scale to measure her weight and find out how much would it cost her to go to space. I told her:

I: Ma’am! Please go around this dianasor and keep going straight, the weight machine will be on your left.

Woman: (Smiling) Thank you.

Then she stopped me again and asked: Where are you from?

I: (Thinking) I am from New York. (Probably my brown skin gives her a vibe that I am an outsider.) Then she continued:

Woman: (weird look) You must like it here.

I: (Smiling) St. Louis? Ya St. Louis is not bad. I just don’t like their restaurants here.

Woman: (strange looking) No, I mean the U.S. A lot of opportunities.

I: (trying to smile) Ma’am, I told you I am from New York. I was born and raised in New York. I am from the U.S.

Women: Yeah, right. (And copied me mockingly) I am from the U.S!

Then she started pushing her husband’s wheelchair. Her husband, a big guys wearing a camouflage hat, was quiet this whole time. He did not speak a word. I was shocked to see myself being considered a foreigner in my own country. But this was an eye-opening experience for me. New York City is an exception. I was so sheltered there and had very little knowledge of my own people.