One of the quirks I’ve noticed since I’ve been living in Nevada is how proud people are of how long their family has been in Nevada. If someone is a third, fourth, or fifth generation Nevadan, that will be one of the first things out of their mouths when they meet you. Growing up in Michigan, I never heard someone proudly call themselves a third-generation Michigander. It never would have occurred to anyone to say. Part of it, I think, is the immigrant culture of the other side of the country. Plenty of people aren’t even third-generation Americans.
When I went to school at the University of Michigan, it it felt like all the Indian kids knew each other. They had built-in friends as soon as they walked on campus. Good friends, not the “that girl who graduated a few years ahead of me and we were in the National Honors Society together” friends. Their parents knew each other, they would explain. But I didn’t really get it…with some exceptions, I wasn’t necessarily close to my parents’ friends’ kids. And then I read The Namesake, and it clicked…
For full review, please visit 500 Books