How American Am I?

I gave my Yankee tickets to a man from down the street. For some unknown reason (he grew up in Brooklyn, loves the Knicks), he is a Red Sox fan. He hadn't been to a stadium since he was 4, which was old Yankee Stadium. So, I gave him my tickets a few weeks ago. He went to the game; the Royals won, we lost. He was happy.

So, I see him today and just ask about his experience. He goes: Are you American? I say: What? Do you mean was I born here? He says: Yeah, were you born here? I say: Sure, I was born in Pittsburgh. And he goes: Well, who is taking over our country? And I say: What? And he says: Go down to Nostrand and Fulton and you'll see what I'm talking about.

So I did. And in this low budget style was a parade of poor folk who were Bangledeshi. They were all in costume. It was a short block parade. Man, the sky looked fierce. And, I thought, fuck ya, I'm American. And, they are American. This is America.

Afterwards, I went to my boy Ricky's birthday party in Williamsburg at an obscure, big bar on a hidden street. Indians surrounding me, as his wife is Indian. And, I felt so good to just not be surrounded by myself. In my mind that is what makes you American. You just don't even think about it. You just laugh, drink beer, admire kids.

It is an odd thing, when you are forced to look at race. I never told anyone the guy from my block was any which race. By where I live, it might be easy to figure out, yet he loves baseball. I love baseball and he was a perfect man to give a ticket to.

Man, though, nobody owns these streets. To see Bangledeshis partying, was awesome. I just feel bad it rained on their parade at all today.