Transcriber: Sara Mazzuferi Reviewer: Sebastian Betti
Today, I want to tell you the story of George and Anan. Those are my parents.
Two Arab Palestinian refugees.
We all came to America in 1980 when I was three years old.
When I came here, I had no education. No money. Couldn’t speak the language.
I was three,
but I made it work.
Now, my parents are Arabs,
so I should tell you something else before we move on.
In the Arabic language, we don’t have the letter P. We don’t have the P sound.
We can't say it. We are of the Palestinian people.
We like to drink Pepsi and eat pizza.
No pepperoni, because pepperoni has pork, it’s the way we talk.
Now, my mom was born in the Mediterranean Palestinian city of Akka.
Now, she was here in the 1960s in California
with her father to finish her studies
and while they were here,
she, her mother and her three sisters were exiled from their homeland
for political reasons that I won’t get into right now.
But she worked hard and she studied hard.
My dad was born in 1948 in the Palestinian city, called Jaffa.
When he was one month old
They became refugees, he grew up in a refugee neighborhood in Jordan
for political reasons that I won’t get into right now.
He studied hard and worked hard.
They met in the 1970s in Berkeley, California.
My mom was doing her undergraduate degree.
My dad was doing his Ph.D. , his “Bh.D.”
And they met there in the 1970s. They got married.
They moved back to Jordan, where my dad became a professor and where I was born.
And then three years after that,
He was kicked out of Jordan for political reasons that
I won't get into right now.
So they aren’t just refugees, once they’re refugees twice.
They even brought me along on the refugee ride one time.
They're really in to the refugee thing.
Now they are celebrating 45 years of marriage.
And I am celebrating my forty fourth year of singlehood. All right.
My Arab mom does not really understand that. You know.
She started asking me questions.
You know, she calls me now, she says, Amer, are you dating any girl? I said no.
She says “others?”
She doesn't care at this point.
So when I was a kid, I tried to fit in, man, I really did. I tried to fit in.
I live in Dearborn, now, the capital of Arab America. I love it.
Falafels, hookers protest on every corner every day. I love it.
That's not where I grew up.
I grew up right outside of Philadelphia in a very white suburban neighborhood.
It was very nice. Everybody was very white, very nice, you know?
I was the darkest person in my school. OK?
And I tried to fit in, I played baseball because that's what you do in America.
You play baseball.
Now, my dad would come to my games and he would cheer for me,
but Arabs don’t understand baseball.
We don’t have baseball.
They only understand one sport: soccer.
My dad would come to my games and he would say, Look, you know,
I understand soccer, OK?
Here there is a goal. Here there is a goal.
You kick the ball in the goal. I understand hockey.
You push that thing into the goal. I understand basketball.
You throw it into the goal.
But baseball “where is the goal?”
So I tried to explain it to him, I said, dad, it’s real simple.
You stand here, you hit the ball,
then you go to first base second base,
third base, then home.
When you get back here, you get a point. It’s called a run.
That’s how baseball works.
And he said: “So, they are already standing in the goal”.
This doesn't make sense to a refugee.
Why would you run everywhere and just come back where you were?
This is a waste of running.
And so he would come to my games with his friends.
Now you got to imagine there's a bunch of guys, Arab guys, thick mustaches,
speaking Arabic, smoking cigarettes, saying the wrong stuff.
Touchdown, goal. All right? Embarrassing.
So I told him, man, one day I said, listen, man.
You got to learn baseball. It’s embarrassing.
I’m trying to fit in with these white kids. You got to learn baseball.
And so he did what refugees do. He made it work.
He went, he bought a baseball book. And he went home.
He read it and he came to my game the next week,
and he cheered for me for two hours correctly. Yes.
Isn't that a beautiful story? Beautiful.
On the way home, I had to have a talk with him.
I said, Hey, man, thanks for coming to the game, I appreciate the support,
but it's pronounced pitch.
You're supposed to say nice pitch. Beautiful pitch.
Smacked the pitch.
Was not good, my dad sounded like Arab Jay-Z at all my baseball games.
The point I'm trying to make is this.
Refugees might stumble every now and then in America.
But they make it work.
And let me tell you this, they’re not stealing anybody’s jobs.
My dad got a Ph.D., he got 41 patents with the US government.
They're not stealing anyone's jobs.
Don’t be mad that they might be doing the American Dream better than you are.
And here else, look, they might mess up in English,
every now and then, they might have an accent,
but that just means they speak one more language than you do.
So next time you see a couple of Arab refugees like George and Anan
and then don't run up to them and tell them, go back to where you came from.
Walk up to them, give them a hug and tell them,
I’m thankful that you’re here and I’m very, very proud of you.