Expressway: Diversity so near, yet so far

Reader Marcia Byalick lives in Searingtown.

In my Brooklyn fifth-grade classroom, I remember Mrs. Feinbloom teaching us that New York City was our nation's shining example of a melting pot, a place where immigrants sought to be transformed into Americans who share a love for democracy, freedom and civic responsibility.

As I reflect on the state of our nation this Fourth of July weekend, I remember my pizza-eating, wrestling-loving grandmother, who could have been the original poster child for the melting pot concept.

She came here alone from Russia in 1914 when she was just 16. Wanting only to assimilate, she rarely talked of her homeland. She never got to go to school and in her 50s still struggled to read English. She considered Aug. 14, 1953, the day she became a U.S. citizen, one of the highlights of her life.

Thirty-five years ago when my husband and I moved to Searingtown with two toddlers, we exchanged density and congestion and economic and racial diversity for malls and elbow room and cars and Republicans. It was my embodiment of the American ideal -- a single-family house surrounded by grass in a community made up of the grandchildren of European immigrants who, like me, made the trek eastward from Brooklyn, Queens and the Bronx.

Today the ethnic makeup of my community has changed. A recent survey revealed that 69 languages are spoken by students in Herricks district schools. As much as 55 percent of the students are Indian, Japanese, Korean or Chinese, officials say. I am embarrassed to admit how for years I ignorantly lumped together my community's Asian population, disregarding diverse backgrounds.

Even as I took pride in the artistry of the high school orchestra and the number of science awards won by our district, I had little idea who I was proud of. No wonder the new owners of three houses on my street weren't exactly thrilled about having an unplanned conversation with a person like me.

I never run into my new neighbors in the supermarket, in local restaurants or at the movies. Rarely do I see them at the local shopping center or the hair salon. I watch their children walking to and from school and at the library, but rarely catch a glimpse of their parents.

So what is my relationship with the neighbors with whom I share a mailman, a state senator and a volunteer fire department? What else beside a ZIP code do we have in common? I figure we are all dedicated to a life of personal growth, and wholeheartedly oppose ignorance and fear-mongering. We have just one go-round in life, and it would be incurious for all of us not to take advantage of the learning opportunities a few feet away.

Because my home no longer includes kids, I have not been privy to the riches such cultural diversity can provide. Perhaps if I were still arranging play dates and car pools, I wouldn't feel so estranged from my new neighbors. Then again, maybe it's just the busy, stressed-out times that are to blame for each of us living such parallel lives.

And if, on the 235th birthday of our nation, "melting" is no longer an option, perhaps becoming a healthy, colorful chopped salad can be our new reality.