Going to America- –
Malayalam Manorama, Copyright 1966 (click for larger image)
Knowing the implications of our very next endeavor can be impossible to know. Which, often, is for the better.
Back in 1962, when my mom was 6 months pregnant with me, the University of Edinburgh extended a slot to my dad for their surgical training program. Dad was thrilled to secure a competitive admission to one of the great institutions of the UK.
A great adventure began. Deeper into the world of medicine. Far away to a new continent, by air to London, then the famous Flying Scotsman train to Edinburgh. A new culture, new people, new life style. Oh my, oh my.
He fully intended to return armed with new knowledge to take a teaching post in Kerala, a lush coastal state in India. But once in Edinburgh, the faculty urged him to “go to Chicago” for hard core trauma experience, in a surgical residency.
So he shared the long term value of such a move with my mom, changed plans and sojourned to the Windy City. When I was around 2, my mom joined him and I was dotingly taken care of by my grandparents, particularly my mom’s parents, I believe. Finally, just before turning 4, my father insisted that I join them in the U.S.
First Passport Photo
India Passport Agency, Copyright 1966 (click for larger image)
Abe, what an excellent story of hardship and sacrifice in aspiring for the American Dream. I am one step removed from your experience (my Dad was a child immigrant from Belgium) and am always impressed with anyone who has made that journey across both borders and cultures.
Best regards & Happy New Year,
Dave
Ah, Abe, what a wonderful, descriptive story. Your writing, as with your photography, captures the mind and spirit, transporting the reader to nearly the same spot as where the story is occurring. I've just seen this post for the first time. Truly an unforgettable story. I'll definitely have questions the next time we meet.