Independence Day Thoughts

It’s Independence Day and to be honest, I’m not all that excited. As a child, the 4th of July was next to Christmas and birthdays in terms of anticipation. I could barely contain my enthusiasm for firecrackers, bottle rockets and sparklers. Every year I’d get burned a bit by careless handling of punks and sparks from the sparklers inevitably caught some skin, but nothing that a wild tomboy couldn’t deal with. I was too engrossed with blowing up things to care about a burn or two.

Though my “adultness” keeps me from too much excitement, the fact is if handed some firecrackers, I’d be looking for an empty tin can to blow into the air. There is something about blowing things up that appeals to some lower nature in me. I don’t know whether or not that is something I should confess, but it’s on paper now. So as I sip a cup of coffee and listen to the sounds of fireworks going off in my neighborhood, I cannot help but remember the Independence Days of my childhood.

As a kid, I knew the hoopla was a celebration of the day the Declaration of Independence was signed. I had to know that much to make it through school. There was always rousing band music and flags waving, and of course, fireworks. It was a time when I was in awe of uniforms and ceremony and very proud that I could say my dad was in the Air Force. It was a childish patriotism, but everyone felt that way. I was surrounded by people who revered the flag and all the protocol that is entailed when handling it. The flag was almost holy. Each school morning, we’d face the flag, put our right hands over our hearts and recite the Pledge of Allegiance. I could recite it along with the Lord’s Prayer. The two may have been the same in my understanding. Somehow, God seemed American to me and the USA was the best country in the world.

A lot has changed in the world from the years when I was busily blowing up things. I’ve learned that the flag is not sacred, the Pledge of Allegiance causes controversy, and the USA is not liked by many. And God is not an American. Never was. I am though. In spite of questionable leadership and corrupt government, injustice and inequality, racism and violence, there is still something that causes me to choke back tears when I hear the national anthem. Maybe it’s just a conditioned response, but I doubt it. I can see that with all its many flaws, America is still blessed with much good: abundant resources, wealth, opportunity, and countless generous and caring people. I may not always like how my government acts, but I live in a nation where I can say that and not fear.

So maybe I was wrong to say I’m not too excited today. I am an American. I am proud that I was an Air Force brat, that my father served his country for 25 years. I am proud that my son is a cadet at West Point and serves his country in the military. I am proud of the young men and women serving overseas in harm’s way. But I am also proud to be in a land where people serve others everyday in soup kitchens and missions; of those who work for justice and equality; of teachers in classrooms; police officers and firefighters; honest government employees; and all the ordinary folks who get up, go to work, pay taxes, give to their churches and drop money in the Salvation Army buckets each December. I live in a nation where creativity is allowed to flourish and dissension is permitted. I live in a country where people from all walks of faith may gather and worship freely. I live in America and I’m proud of it. And it’s all because some very brave people put pen to paper over two hundred thirty years ago and began a grand experiment in democracy and freedom.

I guess I am excited after all.