This is a repost from the past. I guess it says what I want to say and doesn't need to be improved upon.
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 First Lieutenant and serves his
country in the Army. I am proud that my husband is a Vietnam veteran. 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 two hundred thirty –eight years ago and began a grand experiment in
democracy and freedom.
I guess I am excited after all.
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