First Impressions -- America

From a far distance mom and I could see the outline of the jagged-edged city by the harbor. As our ship was drawing closer and closer, my excitement was difficult to contain. The tugboats began to line up on the sides of the M.S. Berlin, edging her way through the channels of New York Harbor.

The exuberance of the passengers began to fill the hot and humid July air when someone shouted, "Look!" "There it is!" "Can you see it?" "Come on over here so you can get a better look," said Peter, a man who had befriended my mom during our memorable journey to America.

I didn't understand all the fuss over a statue protruding out of the water. The adults around me talked of a land so big that it could hold ten Germanies or more. Each person could have a car and buy a house, things that were a luxury only for the very well to do in my homeland. Passengers were boldly exclaiming that there were jobs for every person and that children could go to the universities of their choice. Some were grinning from ear to ear with joy as they beheld her glory. Others, overcome by emotion, began to cry, wiping their eyes with their neatly folded, white handkerchiefs.

I just didn't get it! The statue was very impressive in size, but then I had seen big statues before. Ludwig II, the mad king, and the likenesses of Karl der Gro�e, an important emperor, dotted the rolling landscape of my Germany. And yes, some of the statues were in the middle of water, so what was all the fuss?

Focusing on tugboats now, I was mesmerized as they were bringing us closer to our pier. I was truly captivated as their plumes of water sprayed high into the air and the sun's reflection created multicolored rainbows. The reverberating echoes, toots and honks announced our arrival.

As the interest in the tugboats waned, the cast of a shadow caused me to raise my head. There it was looming before me! The largest statue I had ever seen. My eyes could not contain its scope, even when I backed up as far as the railing would allow. As our ship decelerated, creeping ever so slowly toward the pier, I could see passengers reach out their hands as if to touch her.

"This is the Statue of Liberty," someone said. We observed her from every angle and I, too, was standing like the rest of the passengers with my head tilted back, mouth agape. Lowering my gaze, my eyes focused on the entourage of tourists on Ellis Island meandering into lines and blobs-- little ants in a maze on a giant ant farm. In the presence of the heavily robed lady holding a gigantic torch in an upraised hand, the black specks of people seemed insignificant.

"What is this, mom? Why are people crying?" I asked, hoping for some explanation that would make sense to me.

"She welcomes all those who pass by her," mom said, "and blesses their arrival in this new land. And we are blessed and fortunate to be here." Just then, I did feel somehow special and happy to be here as the shadow of this grand lady enveloped me and our ship.

As the city skyline became more and more prominent, the statue faded into the distance behind us. We were at the brink of New York City. A certain fear gripped my little soul and I had so many questions. "How can the water hold up all of those tall buildings? Do people live there? Where will we sleep tonight? Will daddy be there to meet us? Will he bring me a present? What will this new city be like? Will I have my own room? Will I make friends? How can I? I don't even know how to speak the language? What does their language sound like? Who are the Americans? Do they look like us? I know how to count in English: listen! - vun, tu, sree, fore, fife, sicks. Can I get a bike?"

"Calm down, Schatzi! One thing at a time. First we have to go through customs, then we get to see daddy, and finally we pick up our luggage," mom assured me as she wrapped her arm around my shoulder and lovingly pulled me to her side.

"Mommi, what's customs?"