by Patti
My daughter wants to be Greek.
She is already Argentinean, Chilean, Italian, and Tweenian, but she seems to figure throwing another dash of somethin' in there couldn't possibly hurt. So now, she is becoming Greek.
How so?
Well, one of S's bff's (Bella) is Greek, and that bff's mom (Cathy) is one of my bff's, so we do a lot of hanging out together. Mix us all up, the Spanish and the Greek, and you got some crazy Latin spanakopita times right there.
But the hanging out together isn't the only thing causing the Greek to leak into S's veins. It's the yearly spiritual ritual of the Greek Easter that has gotten under her skin and turned some of her Latin blood into aíma. Last year S was invited for the first time to attend Greek Orthodox midnight mass over their Easter, and she was mesmerized. The chanting, the candles, the darkened church, the singing - it enveloped her and she came out begging to be Greek. She was invited again this year, and of course she accepted. After all, no good Greek would skip mass, now would they?
It all seemed to begin with that, but she hasn't stopped there. No, now, she has chosen a good Greek boy as her first crush. I mean, being Greek-in-the-Mind and all, she has to choose a good Greek boy, no? She also throws Greek yogurt into the shopping cart when we do groceries. I dared to buy some second-rate version of Greek yogurt, but S firmly schooled me and insisted I buy the real Greek yogurt. The kind whose name looks like a typo. But isn't.
And MY LORD is it good.
However, she claims it's not nearly as good as Bella's grandmother's yogurt. Hers has chunks in it.
The other day she asked me what she might have to do to become Greek Orthodox. "So you can attend mass?" I asked her.
"I just like it... Do I have to be Greek to be Greek Orthodox?"
Stumped, I asked Cathy what one has to do to be Greek Orthodox. I mean, the phrase alone infers that one would have to be Greek to be so, right? Yes, I know I sound embarrassingly ignorant at this moment. It's like saying one has to be Roman to be Roman Catholic. Or More of a Man to be Mormon. But in all honestly, it seemed like a fair question.
Cathy referred me to the movie, "My Big Fat Greek Wedding", where an oily, hunky John Corbett is, uh, lovingly baptised in a kiddy pool by his voluptous godmother, Nikki. Remember? Oh, I DO. And besides, how could I possibly forget? "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" is without a doubt S's favorite movie of all time. She has seen it at least 10 times, and any time she is home sick or laying around with nothing to do, she starts jonesin' to see it again.
Well, anyway: HE wasn't Greek, and he was able to somehow become Greek so he could marry in the church.
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| Opa! I'm now Greek! |
Or she can simply continue to love Greek boys, eat Greek yogurt, attend Greek mass, hang out with her Greek peeps, and perhaps, by osmosis alone, she will one day simply FEEL in her heart as Greek as can possibly be. And feeling it in your heart is as real as you can get.
