Welcome to America!

My father grew up in Los Angeles in the 1930s, whenand shouted "Welcome to America!".
an ice truck still delivered blocks of ice to homes andAunt Nell sighed. "Dan," she said firmly, "shouting
the kids begged chips of ice from the delivery man inacross the street was not what I meant."
the summer.Later the boys often passed in the halls at school,
In those days the kids played kick the can andthough they were never in the same classes since
football before supper. They sent away box topsthe new boy, Karl, was two years older and a math
from cereal for neat stuff like secret agent decodergenius. Sometimes Karl would help Dan with math.
rings about the size of a walnut that could easily beOne day he asked- "Do you know why I find the
seen from across the street.time to help you with schoolwork?"
He recalls the day a new family moved into his"No", answered Dan, "I know you are busy and I
neighborhood. They were from Eastern Europe, hissure am grateful but I don't know why you take the
Aunt Nell told him, and they had gone through sometime." Karl answered with a smile. "Well, when we
hard times. She said he should be sure to make themfirst moved in and you shouted across the street to
feel welcome. Not long after, he saw the boy fromme 'Welcome to America!' that was the day that I
the new family across the street. He waved to himknew everything was going to be all right here.