The Cross Section
50
“So, where are you from?” is the polite way of asking “Who are you?” to strangers. Either way I remain conflicted answering the question. The honest, full answer of this question is much too complicated to give most people who ask. My answers all have varying levels of detail, and I’ve learned from experience to give the one that will require the least explanation. If the person is actually interested in getting to know me, they’ll ask follow-up questions. I think of myself as a Choose Your Own Adventure book. On any given night I can be a product of suburbia who can carry their weight in sports talk, a lost country boy who is more at home in the fields than in a building, or an exotic foreigner who can speak another language. My suburbanite credentials are from outside St. Louis where I grew up, mostly because I don’t remember much from my first four years of life outside Cincinnati, Ohio. For family events and holidays we commuted to Weeping Water, Nebraska, population 1,042 according to the sign, anyway. On my grandma’s small, secluded plot it felt more like population 5 but only while we were in town. We spent enough time there that I can feign expertise in farming life, but not enough to go up against anyone who can do more than identify a hay baler. Operating big vehicles still intimidates me. I side much more with my European side when it comes to car size. My Finnish passport certifies my pedigree of having an immigrant father. Telling people I’m Finnish doesn’t always have the “wow” factor I would hope for, especially since most people don’t know where it is on a map. My language skills are somewhere between passable and a third grader, but luckily there aren’t enough Finnish speakers to debunk my touted expertise. Yes, I can say something in Finnish: “Kyllä, mä voin puhua suomea, mutta se on tyhmä koska et ymmärä mitä minä sanon.” It means “Yes, I can speak Finnish, but that is stupid because you don’t understand what I’m saying.” Yes, I know the curse words. Depending on my mood this could lead down a rabbit hole of talking about my history of learning the language and fielding any questions the person has about Finland. Or, if I don’t plan on remembering the person’s name, I’ll stick with the weather and baseball talk. I’m lucky enough to be a white male with a Midwestern accent I can hide behind, so I get to be selective with my actual