When they started yelling about it she knew that life had meaning again. She could see the crowned lady, tall and proud. As they approached, the murmurs grew to yells and then tears. But, now, she knew there were no more sleepless nights, no more empty stomachs. There was no more dreariness, no more dread. There would be no more questions and no more unwanted answers. Through sacrifice, hard work and perseverance through tragedy, a light shined on the little Polish girl. Now, my grandparents were more than just a number. A new life was beginning for “Phil”, “Francis” and “Alice” Goldfisher. Within a week, a new clothing shop opened in an area called “Coney Island” in Brooklyn, New York. At this point, the Goldfishers had gone from living in a concentration camp to a small apartment in the immigrant hub of the planet: New York. To my grandmother, whom I know very well, this was just one figment of the American dream. Moreover, part of their assimilation into this country was the adoption of American things like Apple Pie. Apple Pie was created in Europe but brought to the colonized America. To my family, which is completely immigrant, Apple Pie is a food that makes us feel like everyone else. Every year, we eat Apple Pie on typical American Holidays and family gatherings. Although it is one of many, Apple Pie is something that my family came here for. My family’s new identity is not Polish, or Italian, but American. That is the dream people come to this country for.
– Matt Scileppi