My Greek American Storytelling Odyssey
By Barbara Aliprantis, Storyteller/Mentor/Teaching Artist
My Greek American journey began in a small fishing village on the Aegean island of Paros. Just shy of three years old, I left my beloved home with my mother, my nine-year-old brother Yianni, and my four-year-old sister Calypso. On that day, the narrow, white-washed, cobblestone streets were lined with neighbors and friends, crying and waving goodbye. Our caravan of donkeys, laden with trunks, set out for the eight-mile walk to the port of Paroikia, where we would embark on the long sea voyage. I knew only what my mother had repeatedly told us for months: “We are going to America to meet your father. He is waiting for us.” But I smelled trouble in the air.
My father, a Greek merchant mariner, was waiting for us with open arms when we arrived in New York. He had been traveling back and forth to America for many years, jumping ship from one sea voyage to another; working as a dishwasher in a coffee shop in Astoria, Queens; and sending money home to his family in Paros. With the help of cousins and other compatriots, he managed to avoid immigration officials who were always lurking around looking for “illegals.” Eventually he attained his U.S. citizenship, sponsored by a cousin. After gathering the necessary paperwork, he sent for us, and we went to live with him in Brooklyn.
Fourteen months after arriving in New York, my younger sister was born—but, our mother died from complications a few days after the birth. Our uncle Peter and his young wife opened their home to us, and their neighbors welcomed us as part of the community: my first multiethnic community.
I entered first grade, a bilingual child who did not have a mother or grandparents and did not have a great command of the English language. In addition, throughout kindergarten I looked through my older sister’s first grade reader, “Dick and Jane,” with its lovely pictures of mothers, fathers and grandparents, and wondered why they did not look anything like my family or the village folks I left behind in Greece.
From the first day of first grade, my teacher began playing the role in my life illustrated vividly by American author Henry Adams, who wrote in 1918, “A teacher affects eternity…he can never tell where his influence stops.” Miss Pheifer called out the last names of my classmates, one by one: “Abraham, Brown, Campesi, Cohn, Pisano, Kaplan, Horowitz, Lipschitz, Zito, Zuaro,” and then she stopped, unable to pronounce the next name. Looking around the room she asked, “Who’s Barbara?” I raised my hand ever so slowly. “How do you say that name,” she said, spelling it slowly. “A-R-I-A-N-O-U-T-S-O-S! Is that a GREEK name?” When I pronounced it for her, her face broke into a big smile, and said, “Children, Barbara is Greek. How wonderful! Barbara, stand up and tell us about yourself.” I loved an audience even then, so I stood up, told them about the traumatic events that unfolded the day I left my beloved Greek island home, and I’ve been telling and retelling that story ever since.
I am forever grateful to the wonderful teachers in Flatbush, Brooklyn, for teaching me to “love” who I was, a small immigrant child who loved to tell stories about the village folks she left behind, sharing her family’s teaching tales, including folktales and fables, and talking about her Greek-American immigrant experience, and in so doing learned to recognize and appreciate the universal themes that unite all people.
Barbara Aliprantis, born in Greece, raised in Brooklyn, NY is currently a resident of Natick, MA; awards include the 2018 NEST (Northeast Storytelling) Brother Blue and Ruth Hill Award, a National Storytelling Network Oracle Award, and she was honored at New York City Hall “…for her commitment to sharing multi-cultural folklore and immigrants’ experiences for both hearing and non-hearing audiences around the country. Learn more here: https://barbaraaliprantis.wordpress.com/about-barbara/
