Vivian Volirakis
The Signal Staff
“Everywhere around the world, they’re coming to America – Every time that flag’s unfurled, they’re coming to America – Got a dream to take them there, they’re coming to America – Got a dream they’ve come to share, they’re coming to America….TODAY!”
Every time I hear Neil Diamond’s song “America,” the feelings of freedom rings like a bell.
This song was perhaps one of my favorite classics from when I was a little girl. The victorious melody always reminds me of my dad’s journey abroad from a tiny village in the mountain, atop a tiny island 7,000 miles away, in a country that fits into the state of Texas more than three times, Greece!
For many who dare to venture the valiant voyage to the U.S, the inner itch for liberty explodes like fireworks, as dreams for new beginnings lie on the verge of reality. Freedom, the sweet word rests on the tips of their tongues. They are home.
Dad was one of nine brothers and sisters who grew up working barefoot in the family’s fields from two years of age. The guy’s poor feet had soles like a leather belt. When he was 8 years old, he was lucky enough to get his first pair of shoes. This explains his obsessive-compulsive shoe-buying fetish.
Imagine growing up in a tiny village nestled between mountaintops, with minimal means and never knowing what the ocean looks like until your teenage years. One day, my grandfather decided to take my dad and his brothers by donkey to see the ocean for the first time. That day, the almighty wind was so strong; waves were churning like clouds of whipped cream. At first sight, the young boys were convinced the crashing waves were herds of sheep plowing through fields. That was all they knew.
Despite the passionate adoration and love for his country, my dad made the life-changing decision to come to America when he was 24 years old.
While most people in Europe go to school to learn English and may even be proficient, there will always be many things that seem to get lost in translation.
One of my favorite stories Dad tells from when he had just arrived in the states is the first time he went to the doctor.
“I had a horrible pain in my side,” Dad said. “The only thing I knew to do was to go to the doctor, but I was nervous; I had never been to an American doctor. When I got there the nurses checked my heart, blood pressure and asked me so many questions! Then, the nurses handed me a plastic cup, pointed towards the end of the hall and said, ‘Mr. Volirakis, now we are going to need a sample of your specimen.’ I thought about it for a second then confidently made my way down the hall when I stopped. I thought for a second, where I am going? Now what do they want from me? I have NO IDEA! I knew English very well but had never heard the word SPECIMEN…what could this possibly mean? I needed help! I walked back toward the two nurses and said ‘Miss, can I have a hand with this?’ After the giggling girls cheeks’ turned red like beets, I knew instantly what I was supposed to do with the plastic cup!”
This is one of many great stories he has locked in his treasure chest for rainy days. My father loves his country and culture. Like a ball of clay, his background sculpted him into who he is today. He will never forget where he came from, but would never trade his decision to move to the USA, or home, for the world. “On the boats and on the planes – They’re coming to America – Never looking back again.”
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