America is often described as a land of immigrants. Many of whom have come here one hundred years ago; give or take a few years. Therefore, there are an enormous number of us, myself included, who are third and fourth generation Americans. Along my highly observant journey through life, I have met many classified in the above category.

We label ourselves as modern day, politically correct people. The "melting pot" in action; we share similar lingo, dress code, and enjoyment of all things this wonderful country has to offer. As fortunate inheritants of a promiseful and prosperous nation, united we stand. Until "ethnicity" meddles. Forget your in-laws...this one’s worse.

It seems that when people congregate for the first few times, the subject of ethnicity creeps up out of the blue. I think it is perceived as a harmless ice breaker when getting to know each other. The famous "What are you?" question displays its nosy self. As Americans, we are programmed to understand that we are being asked to disclose where our ancestors migrated from. Now, we are our forefathers in the flesh; a group of people separated by distance and divided by mistrust. One underlying reason prevails: All of us defending who we think we are.

As soldiers of our predecessors, we are defensive should our sacred heritage be threatened; offended, should anyone succeed. Our lineage is honored and protected in the imaginary shrines we have built. Why do we continually do this?

Here’s the way it works: If you are born in America, you are American. Plain and simple. When our military troops are in combat with foreign nations, all of a sudden, we’re "proud to be American." Or, when vacationing in other countries, we are avid Americans. Most other times, we usually retreat to our self-segregated corners.

My own ethnicity happens to be Italian-American. I am neither proud nor ashamed; I’m indifferent. I don’t carry the plight of the Italians on my shoulders. I am one of a multitude born into this particular group. A statistic. Understand, I’m grateful my great grandparents migrated to America in the late 1800s; I know it wasn’t easy; they have my thankfulness and respect. Besides from that, I have no strong allegiance to Italians. No bond.

Why should I? What have they ever done for me?

Maybe that’s why the concept of ethnic slurs doesn’t infuriate me, perhaps as others think it should. I just don’t take slurs personally. Don’t get me wrong...I despise vulgarity, viciousness, and the degrading of any human being. All of us deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. Ethnic slurs are mere "sucker punches"; lashing out at another because of the geographical location from where their ancestors began their journey to America. Ridiculous.

If a stranger, acquaintance, or anyone else dislikes me because of my ethnicity...oh well. So be it. Ethnicity is not a matter of choice; it’s by chance. I’d be much more offended if myself , as an individual, was attacked. If my views, ideas, and accomplishments were ridiculed, I’d be angered beyond belief. Who I am and strive to become is what I take personally. There are countless Italian-Americans in this world...but there’s only one ME.

Have pride in YOURSELF. Be proud of YOUR accomplishments, goals, and dreams. As a whole, they are unique to you. Don’t run away from your heritage; it is a starting point. However, don’t fixate on it either, or take it so personally.

Endorsing Italian-American pride won’t get me anywhere; pushing myself will.