I thought this Fourth of July would be like the others. When our children were young, my husband and I would do “American” things: Grill hamburgers and hotdogs, go to the Mall. It was a day to celebrate all things American:flags, food, fun, fireworks.
But this Fourth of July was different. During the afternoon, a fierce line of winds traveled through Fairfax City downing trees, one of which sliced our neighbor’s house in two — right through their living room. We felt incredibly lucky to have an intact home with running water, albeit no functioning stove.
So we went in search of a place to eat dinner. The traffic lights were out all over the city, and hardworking police (no holiday for them!) were risking their lives by standing in thoroughfares, directing traffic. We passed restaurant after restaurant — closed. No electricity.
Finally we detected life in a Korean restaurant on Lee Highway. There were people pulling into their parking lot, and tables being set up on the grass. We followed the crowd, and discovered that although their power was out, they were willing to serve Korean barbeque alfresco. The bonus for eating outdoors would be the fireworks display from Fairfax High School, one block away.
During our two hours there, tables and chairs were continually being ferried outside until there was no green to be seen on the grass, and part of the parking lot had been turned into an eatery as well. Every table had a fuel-operated grill, and a dozen waitstaff scurried to satisfy the needs of all their customers. The meat and vegetables were cold, as were the bottles of beer. Either their refrigerators were well-insulated, or everything was being kept on ice inside.
As it grew close to the time of the fireworks, we realized that nearly every other table was occupied by Asian families — most three-generational. This, we agreed, was the “new” America. Many were speaking Korean, but the children were all speaking English to one another, and running from table to table talking to others their own age.
All were excited about the fireworks to come. The waitstaff was amazingly industrious. Every new arrival meant two or three employees would head into the restaurant to pick up a table, bring it outside, closely followed by the appropriate number of chairs. Business was booming, even without the ability to take credit cards.
That evening became a lesson to me that the “new” American exhibits industry. Cho’s Garden was open when nearly all restaurants were shuttered. It operated at a run, not a walk. They were very much like the early American settlers: finding a way to make an adverse situation profitable.
I thought of my students at Oakton, many of who are glutted with privilege, continually bored, lacking that fire at the root of ambition. Perhaps they will be as inspired as my husband and I were by the industry and family bonds of our immigrant population.
America was founded by industrious labor, and that may be what rescues our youth from complacency. Diversity is our strength — and worth celebrating on our nation’s birthday.
Erica Jacobs teaches at Oakton High School and George Mason University. E-mail her at [email protected].
