A week or two ago, I overheard an interesting recommendation. A man told his friend that the food at a local restaurant was “really good.” I found myself at 8 p.m., near the restaurant at six hours past my last meal.

The place was empty but the hostess was clearly upset. She was watching a news program on her computer. She paced as she watched. As soon as I stepped inside, she said, “The man asked why do they shoot at Trump but not at Harris.”

I understood she needed to speak her mind. Her grammar was perfect but her accent thick. I had to listen carefully. She continued, “They’re separating people,” a sentence she would repeat two more times. She put her hands down on the desk then moved them apart to illustrate separation. I said something to signal her to continue.

She paced a bit, then said, “I don’t think I want to stay here.” She continued talking, which calmed her. She became herself, a pleasant hostess with a warm personality. She took my order, then, started a new conversation about me, while we waited for my take-away.

The attacks being made on immigrants bother me. There are places I love to go to because I can see and hear families that still speak their native languages. The places are Costco, both one in West Springfield and the other in Nashua, and last, but far from least, is the laundromat. At one Costco, some of the customers speak one of the many languages of India, while the other Costco draws Spanish speakers.

Once, in the checkout line, a woman wearing an hijab saw a blue-and-white glass container in my cart. “Excuse me. What is in that jar?” “Cherries,” I said. “It’s a birthday present for my daughter.”

“She will have this beautiful jar when she finishes the cherries. Where are they?” She thanked me and went in the direction I pointed to.

These people are normal. They do not wish to disrupt the country. They are not spies. In fact, they’re very social. Spanish speakers seem to always make the trip to the laundromat a family affair. This week, two couples came with three children, a boy who was probably 10, a girl of 4 or 5, and a 1-year-old who was already a competent walker. I do not speak Spanish but I recognized when they joked, when they were serious and when they asked questions.

What should be kept in mind is that most immigrants of the current generation quickly become bilingual, if they had not learned English in their countries of origin. As they switch languages in their daily life, their feelings and their personalities change. All that means is they are adapting.

Let’s face a reality. If you are white and living in the U.S., either you are an immigrant or you are descended from immigrants. My family, from both the maternal and paternal lines, came to America from Europe during the 1880s.

My father’s side always had a member who kept records and saved photos. My mother’s side remains a blank wall. Years flew by before I learned that my mother’s father was not Irish but Polish. According to the National Park Service, “It’s a myth that names were changed at Ellis Island.” Changes in spelling happened because of shipping companies mistaking what they heard.

With the collapse of Grandpa’s supposed Irish ancestry, his story of how his parents met also collapsed. Until having a DNA analysis became easy, it looked like my generation was Polish, Irish, Hungarian and, possibly, Austrian. DNA presents something simpler that is supported by history. My brothers and I are Polish, Swedish and Baltic.

I deeply regret that the only connection to our maternal past is that great-grandparents, grandparents and parents used Polish as a means of keeping secrets from us.

But I hope that the families among us now maintain a respect for their origins, as well as adapting to their futures as good citizens.

Susan Wozniak has been a caseworker, a college professor and journalist. She is a mother and grandmother.