Coming to America

The first two years of my parents marriage were spent living in Germany. After only one year of marriage, my older sister was born.  Around this time, my great uncle and his wife were living in Chicago. They had immigrated many years earlier.   While in Germany, my parents had played around with the idea of moving to the United States.  Now, my father wasn't as thrilled with the idea, but had a tendency to trust my mother's instincts. To this day, my mother still makes all the major decisions.  My parents have explained to me that the process to come over to the states was as simple as sending a letter to my great uncle, where in turn, he offered them a place to stay.  So, they boarded a plane in 1975 and were on their way to discover life in America!  

Soon after, my mother, only 21 years old, and my father, who had just turned 30,  came to the United States without any knowledge of the English language. Not to mention that my older sister was barely a year old.  My uncle and aunt's apartment was not very big and definitely not big enough to accommodate a mother and father and their young child.  As my parents had to tolerate shutting the lights off by 8 o'clock to help energy costs, my uncle and aunt had to tolerate a crying baby.  This living situation was not quite what either of the families expected. 

Once my parents were settled into their new home, it was time to look for work.  My father was the first to find a job because my mother needed to care for my sister.  Now looking for a job required finding an employed Croatian and hoping this person would offer to help.  Unfortunately, it took asking a few people for someone to finally say yes.  Every time I saw this man while growing up and up until his death, the first thing my parents would say is "He helped your father."  In just a few words, this meant he was the reason why we were clothed, fed, had a home, an education; a life in America.

Many of the Croatian immigrants knew either a family member or friend living in the United States.  These people would provide a temporary home until the person who immigrated found a job.  Later in their lives, these now U.S. citizens would always remember and be grateful for the help. 

All content © Marija Jurcevic 

How My Parents Met

My father was 9 and my mother was barely walking when they first met. Obviously, sparks didn't quite fly at that moment. They both grew up in a same small village in Croatia, but once my father reached 5th grade, he was sent away to an all boys dormitory. Just around the time my father was born, his father had been killed in World War II, so this facility or home he was sent to was meant for children with only one parent or both parents killed.

In the meantime, my mother was going to school and had seen my father once again when she was 12. By the time my mother was 16, she had moved to Germany to earn some money and had become engaged to a German by the time she was 17.

Once my father was out of the army, he had asked about my mother and when he heard she was in Germany, he quickly wrote her a letter asking her to come back to Croatia to see him. Now my mother was very precautious of his request and so insisted that he come to Germany. Through his ingenious trickery, he convinced my mom to come back. Not because of my father's plea, but because of the telegram sent to my mother by her sister saying that their father was sick. This little scheme was concocted by my father who was also engaged at that time! When my mother arrived in Croatia, she quickly figured out what was going on. About one month after she arrived, they were married.

I'm sure many of you dual cultural offspring have a similar story to tell about how your parents met or married. I know with many Croatians back then, most couples did not date for very long and hardly knew each other before marrying. Most of the time the families came from the same villages and knew each other and that's what was relied on, the sense of trust within this collective culture.

All content © Marija Jurcevic 

Dual Cultures

Dual cultures. I have gone back and forth with an appropriate name for this blog. For one, I have seen some differing definitions on who is considered first generation American. On the other hand, I didn’t want to leave others out that may not fit that first generation model. We have immigrants that came over as young as 5 years old and refugees that were teenagers, but have assimilated into the dominant American culture.

Lahiri’s quote above (taken from a 2006 Newsweek article) has been sitting with me for many years, “loyal to the old world” and “fluent in the new.” I felt such a connection as I read through her article. So, I started asking friends and friends of friends with dual cultural identities questions about their upbringing, such as relationships with family and friends, language, food, etc. Where although their parent’s cultures were vastly different from my own parents, the experiences and emotions we had was shared.

What I want this blog to be is an intelligent and open dialogue in sharing our lives. Whether it’s the frustrations of our parents not understanding our views or sharing ways we bring culture into our own, newly formed families. Our world has a habit of making quick judgments of cultural practices that are different than our own, so this is our chance to create a community where we try to examine our similarities, and even differences, without judgment. 

All content © Marija Jurcevic