My husband and I arrived just minutes before the Washington Nationals and the Atlanta Braves took the field to participate in one of America’s oldest and arguably best pastimes—a baseball game.  It was a cool September evening, and the pre-game hullabaloo was in full swing (no pun intended).  As we took our seats and settled in to enjoy the privilege of being able to afford attending the game (note to self: buy Ramen at Safeway), the announcer’s voice rang out over the intercom.  He welcomed us to National Hispanic Heritage Night at RFK Stadium (a stadium once falsely believed to be located in the heart of America).  He went on to explain that out of deference for the great sacrifices and contributions of Hispanics worldwide to AMERICA’S pastime the game would be proudly broadcast in both English and Spanish.  That would have been infuriating enough inasmuch as this is as mentioned America, and in America we speak English; but the real kicker was that I never heard another word of English for the duration of the game (save the expletives emanating from those around me over $7 hotdogs). 

            I was forced to survive seven innings of Spanish—a language I have resisted learning based solely on principle.  To be sure, the $40 admission price is probably cheaper than a trip to Mexico itself.  However, inasmuch as I have no desire to “vacation” in Mexico I didn’t really feel as if I’d gotten any kind of a deal.  I sat there fuming!  We finally left after seven innings—I couldn’t take it anymore. Why do we kowtow to this one select group of minorities?

            I am from German descent.  However, I don’t speak a word of German.  This is not merely an anomaly.  I don’t speak German because I was born and reared in America.  My father does not speak German—he, too, was born and reared in America—and one might add has spent the entirety of his adult life serving America.  In fact, I can’t think of a single member of my family who speaks German.  This is because when our ancestors came over from Germany generations ago, they were greeted at Ellis Island by ENGLISH speaking people.  The unspoken rule was: learn English or go home.  Nowadays, the descendents of such immigrants are being told: learn Spanish or the ACLU will hound you for the remainder of your days. 

            America has long been a melting pot.  We have taken the tired, the poor for more than 200 years.  At no point in our history has the Statue of Liberty borne the words: “the too lazy to learn English”.  It is a recent development that we are no longer the hosts of our great country.  We are being pushed around by a new crop of immigrants who demand special rights and exceptions in our America.  Why do we have street signs in both English and Spanish? Why do I have to push 1 for English?  Why can’t I buy a bag of potato chips without Spanish words printed on it?  Why do I feel like a foreigner in my own country?

            If America doesn’t wake up to protect what is our culture, we are bound to become the minority.  It seems the only people not welcome here anymore are God-fearing, Country-loving, real Americans.  America is ours to lose.  And like the Washington Nationals that September night, it only takes perseverance to change the score, protect our turf, and send the visiting team back home where they belong.  The Atlanta Braves should not be welcome in Washington until they switch teams and don the Nationals uniform.