First, let me explain.  I was never Greek enough to be a Greek, a  mixed Greek of the diaspora is suspect . Although my last name and paternal line is  Lebanese, it was not  enough to go to Lebanon.  Two generations born in Egypt, yet we were not Egyptian.  So, when time came to leave Egypt, America was the place that took us.   It was not easy, more about that story, some other time.  

My family was the kind that was ethnically cleansed from time to time.  We were like the stuff you sweep up in the kitchen in the dust pan, bits of this and that.  We managed to cling on.  My father was proud to say that in all this, not one of our family members ever fought in any wars. 

Well, there was my maternal uncle, who go inscripted into the Greek army in World War II but came home early-- a canon hit his head and survived.  Imagine how hard this man's head was, legendary.

Finally, we were swept out of Egypt, some of the last to go.  Sad for my parents till the day they died, but great for us younger ones.  

Still, when I meet Greeks, they don't fully embrace me.  Egyptians give me the once over and check me off as a "hawagat"--a European that lived in Egypt-- even though when I was nine, I told a bunch of Europeans it was good that scum like them was being thrown out of Egypt.  Egypt was for the Egyptians and they were forgeting it.  Oh, well, I am still a hawagat.

It took me many years to enjoy not being a full member of any group.  Not really any one thing, a chameleon of sorts.  

 I raised my children American with bits of ethnic color here and there.  Well, when I say Americans let me qualify this , Americans raised in Berkeley, California.  

My son at six blurted that Malcolm X was one of the founding fathers  of America, on a lake in Minnesota with   his father's side.  I  was told I should reconsider his education, I did not.  My daughter who was a two years older,  at the same reunion, asked her aunts, "which ones are lesbians, cause in a group that big there should be one at least?".  

Forty two years in America and people still ask me where I am from.  I have sort of made peace with myself.  I don't make sweeping generalizations that Europeans are more open and tolerant and Americans are closed and pathetically religious.  

I have gained the ability to not idealize any nation, or  demonize any other.  I have understood what my mother used to say," there are only two types of people in the world, no races, no religions and no nations, the good ones and the bad ones, you will spend your life trying to figure out which is which."  

During the Bush years I did worry about not being American enough and that I could have been rendered to the Egyptians if they ever wanted, so the feeling of absolute safety in being an American  did leave me.   Wrong accuasations, mistaken identity, or just because my passport said "born in Egypt" will be with me, in case someone wants to make it into an issue.  I always think of the Japanese during World War II.  

Frankly, I am not convinced that renditions will still not take place under Obama,  but, I will always  support the Center for Constitutional Rights.   (Go over there some time and give them a buck).

The safety in my American citizenship, was short lived.  

But, I do have something that I am truly proud of this 4th of July:   COSTCO.  What do you say?  Not the Constitution? Not the flag?  Not the wide open spaces?

Costco, for me is the great equalizer.  A place that satisfies the dream of every immigrant.   When we came to America many of us  lived through shortages and periods of rationing.  

The ability to buy endless quantities of toilet paper, oil, sugar, flour and cleaning supplies. Cases of Coca Cola.  A car, a sofa,  Ralph Lauren and Levys.  What else do we need in life?  

You have convinced yourselves that we come to America for a "better life" and you immediately equate that better life with rights and freedoms.   Hell no, it's toilet paper and cleaning supplies we wanted.  There is one thing all humans share, a need for basics, well and a flat screen tv from time to time.  

Freedoms get taken away.  Security and safety are passing.   But a continuous supply of basics is guaranteed in America.  The ability to walk into that warehouse with all the other immigrants from Viet Nam, India, Pakistan, Ethiopia, Mexico, Russia and yes, lots of native born Americans and haul off a cart full of supplies to store in your basement, or garage. That is America.  That is the promise of America.  Costco does it better than anyone else.  And, the company is actually one of the most ethical and better run. 

If the Bush administration listened to my idea, the Iraq war would have been a cake walk.  This was my plan.  The army would march in.  

Behind the army would be builders, who would erect Costcos for lets say each 150,000 population cluster.  Along with the cluster, each family would get 1,000 dollars for shopping at Costco.

 I assure you the frigin insurgency would not have happened.  Think how much cheaper this solution would have been?  

Ahh, one family, two cart loads at Costco.  Ready for anything.  Freedom from buying one bottle, or roll at a time.  Freedom from the tyranny of daily shopping.  Your kids, satisfied with plenty of nibbles.  Meat, meat, and more meat.  

The Soviet promise  was really a Costco, but they never delivered.   Big, uniformed and satisfying.  Who needs ten brands of toilet paper?  Two are enough, but lots of rolls-- 42 rolls in one package.   Costco is the ultimate promise to the citizenry of a nation.  Freedom to buy large quantities of basics.  

Now, during the depression, aka recession ,or economic crisis,  we still can go into Costco and fullfill the promise.  The promise of a house stocked with toilet paper, olive oil and detergent.  Thank you America, thank you Costco.  

(You must learn to pronounce it correctly:  "Kostkoo". )