About Elizabeth Ihidoy: Though raised in an American household, my father, a French-Basque immigrant from the Pyrenees in Esterencuby, France, always spoke Basque to friends at our table or on the phone, and occasionally to me specifically. He never had the patience to teach me the language, but nonetheless kept his heritage strong in our home, constantly gesturing to the painting of his mother on the wall with every story he told. Growing up in Holtville, California in the Imperial Valley, I was always exposed to the Basque culture, as there are many who reside there. My father himself was a man of trade; raising market lambs as he had been taught since he could walk, and taking me along for moves in my early childhood. Currently I am a freshman at Elmira College in upstate New York, and, perhaps because of my father and his endless stories about his homeland, have become hooked to traveling abroad since my junior year of high school. Though the plans of finally visiting my fathers home and relatives this coming summer were cut off by his sudden death, he still lives within me day to day, and drives me to further my knowledge of my heritage. This writing is the introduction to a massive research term paper, one that has helped me understand my roots and my father. I am determined, one way or another, to make it back to my fathers homeland and see his house, those infamous mountain peaks, and the relatives that I know so little of. Looking up at a 1970?s snapshot of my father?s home on my dorm room wall, I am reminded of who I am and how far he came. I hope that this small piece of writing will help anyone and everyone out there realize their own dreams and strengthen their heritage as well.

"Dad! Daddy? DAD! Come on...answer me!!" The man sitting at the kitchen table reading the morning newspaper did not react; reaching instead for the nutcracker and basket of walnuts sitting nearby. The young girl tried again: "Papa? Daddy? DAD? Why don't you answer when I call you that!?" Her father cracked open a walnut and ate it slowly, deliberately ignoring his daughter's words. She sighed, giving up as usual. Hands on her hips, she said the word she knew would get her father's attention: "Aita. Will you listen to me now?" The man slowly set his newspaper back down on the table near the nutcracker. With a straight face and a slight twinkle in his eye, her father replied, "You know I answer to Aita. I'm not 'Dad'; I'm Aita. Now, what is it you need?" Holding up a piece of paper, she replied, "I want to quiz you with my spelling list." "Elizabeth," he said, "You know I have broken English. Test me with Basque. My language makes more sense!" Smiling, she started her ritual. "Okay, Aita, spell boy." Sighing, he replied, "B-O-I?" Laughing, she kissed him on the cheek and said, "Wrong again Aita. B-O-Y. Nice try though. When are you going to teach me Basque?" Shaking his head, the twinkle returning to his eye yet again, Michel replied, "There's not enough patience in the world for me to teach you that. You speak good English. Almost too good. Go read a book; I'm reading the paper." Elizabeth ran off down the hallway to her room, and her father returned to his English language course--the daily newspaper.

As a young child, I never appreciated the fact that my father had made a life from the ground up. To me, he was just my Aita; a stubborn man who could not spell the words off my third grade spelling list. However, over the years, I came to realize the hardships he faced as an immigrant to the United States, the obstacles he overcame in order to make a life for himself and his family. My father came to the United States as an eighteen-year old pursuing the American Dream. He was raised French-Basque in the Pyrenees mountains bordering France and Spain; and, despite his acquired United States citizenship, he was proud to hold a Basque name and ideals. From a young age I knew that my last name would always require some explaining. "It's pronounced ee-hee-doy," I would say, pronouncing each syllable just as my father had taught me. I never found the difficulty in pronouncing Ihidoy; to me it seemed straightforward. However, more recently, I began to look at my last name in a different light. It seems as though my unique name conceals an existence outside of my own, one that my father told stories about but never fully explained before his death. "Ihidoy is a very special name, Elizabeth," he said seriously. "There are very few in the world, and we are the only ones in the United States," he would begin, starting the familiar story about our Basque heritage. My mind always seemed to drift off when my father started his rambling, and yet the topic of all of his stories now haunts me more and more every day. The Basque Country: that place that was not quite French or Spanish, existing along the Pyrenees; Euskara, the language my father spoke so well; and, the dancing and cuisine I always encountered at Basque picnics. All of it amounted to half of my existence, and yet the questions still remain: What does it mean to be Basque? What was my father telling me through all those stories over the years? Most of all, as a person of Basque descent, who am I?

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jettmartin at aol dot NOSPAM dot com 12-Nov-2007 15:10 #6379 It was so interesting to read comments from other children of Basque immigrants. My mother came from Erandio, Vizcaya (outside Bilbao) in 1932 when she was 17. Her Basque name was Edurne Aretxabaleta (which was changed to Arechavaleta when she came through Ellis Island). My mother always talked about her heritage, but she definitely raised her children as Americans. We did not grow up around other Basques, so missed out on that cultural experience. A few years ago, I was in Reno in a Basque restaurant and said to the bartender that my mother was Basque. He replied, "Then that makes you Basque" and I realized that I had never considered myself Basque. So three years ago, I went to Bilboa to explore my mother's homeland and meet my Basque cousins. It was such an amazing trip. There were so many people there that looked like my Mom and my sister and brother! The experience really made a difference in how I view myself and my family history.
swayclark at msn dot com 07-Aug-2007 15:30 #5798 Your story brought a tear to my eye. My father too came to America at age 18 from Ea, Vizcaya in the pursuit of a dream. The newspaper was also his English course while herding sheep in Colorado. We were also the only ones in the country with our last name, along with his brothers, and I am very proud to have the Basque heritage!! Consuelo Clark (Silonis)
melanathoua at hotmail dot com 06-Jul-2007 19:12 #5603 Hi Elizabeth, My name is Evelyne Lanathoua, I am sure you know me, but it has been a very long time. Your father was and still is a very good friend of our family's, was almost like an uncle to me. Please contact me, my father and I where just talking about your father this wekend and we want to honor him in the basque book for the Chino Picnic in September 2007. I am looking for old pictures. One that will portray that beautiful smile and gleam in his eye that I fondly remember. My father and mother also are from Esterencuby. Please email or call me at 909/744-8154. Thank you. Evelyne Lanathoua
psmiguel at usa dot net 27-Apr-2007 12:05 #5069 Wonderful history and I think it is familiar to many basques. I was born in Caracas, Venezuela, my aita and ama were from Donosti, they met and married in Caracas in 1952; both died in Venezuela many years ago. I visited Donosti and Esukadi in 1982, and it was like being at home, since then I have travelled there many times. One mandatory place to visit was Gernika, the Meeting House and the Oak, was imposible to avoid remembering the bombardement and to my aita, who being gudari from Saseta's batalion was there that day, April 26, 1937. Unfortunaly I am not euskaldun but I underestand a lot of words, and of course I know a lot of basque songs, taditional and songs that you sing when you are "txikiteando", although you can sing them too in your etxea with you family, to teach them and to laugh all together. Now I am living in London, and I am trying to leran and improve my english skills what is an easy task for my son and daughter. Basque is a feeling that you carry in your blood, in your heart, in your soul. Is "that" what connects you with a small part between two countries, with things that are being transmited through many centuries, is "that" what makes you shake when you hear the sound of "txistu".
waprog2 at yahoo dot com 20-Feb-2007 4:38 #4631 I think this little article is very important for everyone with either immigrant ancestors (even non-Basque) or not. I can identify two ways. I have Irish Ancestors (yes, there are lots of us) with very similar problems in the home countries, a difficult langauge no one seems to speak anymore, and a need to keep up a culture which has contributed a lot more to the world than the world admits. Then there the Seminoles. We have a precious culture, and a language fading away...and tons of pressure to be, "Real Indians"--Plains Indians. It seems that swamp Indians are not fashionable anymore than is a last name like Echevarria or Bengochea. Ah well, we do have out work cut out for us getting all those cultural riches to the next generation. Thank you for passing on YOUR culture. Linde Knighton
basquegal at hotmail dot com 06-Feb-2006 13:47 #2551 I can't believe the amount of comments that this has generated! Thank you so much for all your notes, everyone...I really appreciate it. I'm now a sophomore here at Elmira College, and my life is carrying on as usual. I went to France this past May for a short study abroad and planned on visiting my father's family. Unfortunately, things didn't work out and I couldn't get down to visit them while I was there. The intro that you all read for the paper I wrote about figuring out myself through my father ended up being thirty-eight pages long, and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. I'm on a mission to see the world a bit at a time, and someday--hopefully one summer soon--hope to visit Euskal Herria. This May I'm heading with a professor and a group of students to study in Russia--an experience that should prove to be interesting. I hope everyone that dropped me notes is doing well and got something out of my writing. If anyone wants to read the entire paper, I still have it...though it can get long at some points due to my professor's specifications on the amount of research involved and my not-so-great freshman writing abilities. Thanks again! And Blas, keep up the amazing site! ---Elizabeth Ihidoy
SACBASQUE at AOL dot COM 07-Jan-2006 21:54 #2429 Elizabeth, I to am a proud Basque that has never had the chance to get back to the homelan & I just wanted to take this time to wish you all the luck in your studies here and abroad & just also wish you the best of you luck to be able to get over there someday.... God bless you and your family and good luck...                           Claude Arretche
twowoodwards at yahoo dot com 14-Dec-2005 20:40 #2330 Elizabeth,     wonderful article about your father, I am your aunt that you have never met (from your mother's side). If you have the notion to get in touch please send me an email. My husband and I currently live in Hawaii, I just completed my MBA and currently work at a high tech facility. I hope to hear from you Tina
dollygabor at comcast dot net 05-May-2005 13:09 #1513 Elizabeth, I love your writing. It brings back all the memories of my grandmother telling us Basque stories. My grandfather was from Ea, Vizcaya and my mother was born there as well. My grandmother & her children immigrated to the Philippines when when my grandfather died and we have since then immigrated to the United States. But because of my proud Basque heritage, I named my children Inaki and Amaya. Last summer, I went to Ea with my 18 yr old daughter and felt so st home. Ea was exactly as my grandmother and mother described it to be. I also met all my families and they were very gracious. My daughter is looking forward to going back someday and staying longer to know her culture better. The best part was going to "Etxe Aundi" my family"s home. And visiting my grandfathers grave.
basquegirlie at hotmail dot com 13-Feb-2005 23:18 #1202 Elizabeth, You forgot to mention Aita singing on the phone to his family and his award winning lamb that we will all miss.... Yvette (Ihidoy)
ellisredfish at sbcglobal dot net 01-Feb-2005 21:53 #1160 My mother passed away a week ago today. After the funeral, many relatives and friends gathered for coffee and cake at the church hall as is the custom in West Texas. At the gathering there were many families with names like Arriaga, Medrano, Aguirre, Guevara and of course Mendiola. What is sad is that no one knew that their ancestry is Basque. Most of the people there came from families that immigrated to Texas during the Mexican revolution and found work on sheep ranches. I guess once a Basque always a Basque. My grandparents also raised sheep for market. You can still see the facial characteristiss in these folks; the long faces and big ears are still evident along with their white complexions. We have been in this part of the world for a long time...some say since the time of the Conquistadores. For my part I have told my children about our heritage and anyone that will listen to me. I plan to go to Euskal Herria in the near future and visit a place named Mendiola. I attended a Basque festival in Elko, Nevada a few years back and met some folks from The Basque Country that I plan to visit. In the meantime I am trying to learn a little bit of the language. In closing, I really enjoyed your article. Agur, Ellis Mendiola
sgorrono at msn dot com 11-Jan-2005 17:06 #1094 Ms. Ihidoy, Thank you for writing such a intensely interesting and well written article. Although it seemed complete in it’s expression of pride and quest, hopefully it was only the beginning – the very beginning. Your words were strongly empathetic. I am one generation removed, as it was my not my Aita, but my Aitona that first emigrated to the U.S.. Still, I share your pride, your enthusiasm, and your need; so I am hopeful that we will hear more from you. I saw your posting in the pen-pals section weeks ago, and I was planning to send a greeting. But I put it on hold, waiting for a nice kafetxo bat and a nice weekend before I wrote. But after I saw your article, and the sad mention of your great great loss (for which I am deeply and truly sorry), I was struck by the sense that each day passed, is another day lost. Also a Basque-American, I was born, raised, and still live in California; and I have for years had an special interest in the Basque people and culture. Unfortunately I cannot offer any information regarding your lineage, but I just want to send some words of encouragement. If I run across any information that I think is interesting, I’ll be sure to send it on to you. Eskerrik asko ta zori on,                           sg
tstarr at earthlink dot net 03-Jan-2005 14:13 #1048 Dear Elizabeth, I thought your article was interesting. Have you taken any Euskera courses or read books? If not, you should. I started learning Basque by studying books and tapes. It really helped me out.  First of all, let me tell you about my story. I moved to Madrid in 2003. After I finished school there I began working as an English teacher. I wanted to transfer to Euskadi, but I could not find any work there. I decided to visit Gipuzkoa and Blas put me in contact with one of his friends in Donostia. So I vacationed there on the La Semana Santa in April. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I made it a point to go back last November. It is my favourite place in Euskal Herria. Anyway, I was able to speak Euskera with the locals. I could not use this language in Madrid or anywhere in Spain, so I found it gratifying to speak to people there. The Basques seemed to be nice and friendly people. You can't find that in Madrid very often. Because of the lack of opportunities and finances, I was not able to move to Euskadi. However, I got to see what it was like to be an immigrant. A foriegn person in someone else's country, or as the Spanish say, "extranjero". I could imagine what it was like for your father. Best wishes, Trevor
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