Think about it for a minute. Do you have your answer? It's a pretty simple question, isn't it? You are probably thinking of the place you were born, or maybe the place you spent your childhood.
If you are white, and not an immigrant yourself, I am guessing, you are NOT thinking of where your ancestors came from, but where YOU came from.
People ask my husband where he is from all the time. He knows that it is a loaded question but he usually gives them a straight up, honest reply, "Iowa". Yes, he was born in Ames, Iowa. That is not the answer most people are looking for, and they usually respond to his reply with a quizzical look.
The truly brazen will then ask that audacious follow up question, "Where are you really from?"
(I know, it is all beginning to sound familiar)
What they really want to know is what Asian country his parents, or grandparents came from.
Sometimes he indulges them, sometimes not. When he is in a playful, snarky mood he might answer, "Well, okay, I spent most of my childhood in New York City." Then, their look changes from quizzical to confused. Are they brave enough to ask the second follow up question, "Where are you really, really from?"? (maybe he should say "My mother's uterus!"?)
One of the great things about America is that it is a huge, huge melting pot. Almost all of us, are the descendants of immigrants, and this is a great equalizer. No one has more claim to this great country than anyone else.
Maybe it is because the Asian immigration is more recent, but it seems to me, they are less readily accepted as "real" Americans than other ethnic groups. African-Americans have their share of issues but no one expects them to say "Ghana" when they are asked where they are from. Of course, there is that whole awkward slave thing, so maybe no one wants to go down that road and "Connecticut" is easier to say than "Well, my ancestors lived in Ghana but then my great, great, great grandfather was stolen from his homeland and my family worked on a plantation in Mississippi for fifty years." Awkward. I live in a part of the country where there are not a lot of Hispanic-Americans but I imagine that they get their fair share of questions from people trying to find out if they are "legal", "How did your family come to this country? By car? By bus? By a little rowboat with 50 people in it?"
I once met a young man on an airplane who was a true anomaly, a real live example of a man without a country, a global citizen. He had a French mother and a Portuguese father. His parents were both diplomats and this young man had been born and raised in Japan. His parents had decided since he was not ethnically Japanese that they would send him to an International, American school. He attended that school from Kindergarten to 12th grade. He spoke perfect American English. He wore American blue jeans and American sneakers. If you met him, and knew nothing of his background, it would be easy to mistake him for a kid from Iowa. You would absolutely, unquestioningly believe him if he told you he was from Ames. Oh! The Irony! In actuality, he had never stepped foot on American soil. The plane ride we were on was his first time going to America, and he was on his way to spend four years at Columbia University. He explained to me that no matter how long he lived in Japan, even if he lived there his whole entire life, he would never be accepted as Japanese. His tall, six foot frame, light brown hair, and blue eyes immediately excluded him. It didn't matter if he spoke fluent Japanese (which he did) or understood and respected their customs. He wasn't one of them. He couldn't even fit into their clothes. He hadn't spent much time in France or Portugal, so he didn't identify strongly with either of those cultures either. In fact, since his parents were of different nationalities, they all spoke English at home. Since he went to an American school he grew up playing baseball, basketball, and football (real football, not soccer). He celebrated Thanksgiving with American friends, and went to Fourth of July parties. He was an All-American boy. Except he wasn't.
This happened about 20 years ago and I still wonder what happened to him. Does he still live in the states, or did he make a home somewhere else? I imagine him living here, in some suburb, with a "typical" American family. I think that every now and then he is at a cocktail party and someone asks him the innocuous "Where are you from?" question. And, if he is anything like my husband, he gets that little crooked, somewhat devious smile on his face and answers, in all honesty, "Japan".
What comes to your mind when someone asks, "Where are you from?"?
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