250 Years
Muddled thoughts on America's anniversary
Today is America’s 250th anniversary, commemorating the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Something my friend H and I discussed this week, while remembering we both had memorized it in our youth, and still have the muscle memory to repeat it when someone reads it aloud.
The most important men in my life all served this country. My dad, who served in the Army, retired from the Navy, and then had a second retirement from the Department of Defense. My cousin, who had too many tours in this modern age for my liking. When Tony was diagnosed with cancer, he had the American flag flown in our honor over the base in the Middle East where he was stationed, and sent it to us. My grandfathers and great-uncles—the most gentle men, kind and warm, loving—men who taught me what true masculinity is, wrapped up in their own brand of feminism, and who told me I could do and be anything. The same men who counted the Battle of the Bulge and D-Day amongst their time in WWII, while others continued on to the Korean War, and Vietnam. My father-in-law, who served in Vietnam, and is buried at Arlington National Cemetery.
Uncle Builo, always a man of his word, went off to war during WWII as a teen. He promised his mother that he would finish high school and came home at 21, where he sat in the local high school and did just that.
These men, the ones from the greatest and silent generation, those are the voices in my head. All of them but a few lived until I was in my 30s and knew my son. I like to think he carries their spirit inside of him.
It’s also a sad time for me as an American.
The Pilgrims who landed in 1620 came to North America seeking religious freedom. The same for the Puritans who came en masse between 1630 and 1640.
“This influx was spurred by increasing persecution from King Charles I and a desire for a community where they could freely practice their faith. The Puritans established a society characterized by family cohesion, shared values, and land distribution policies that provided stability. Their legacy has significantly influenced American culture, particularly in shaping concepts of governance and community.”
It is not lost on me that people came here to seek religious freedom, yet church bombings have been categorically rooted in white supremacist terrorism against Black congregations. Most notably, the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church bombings, which galvanized the Civil Rights Movement. Thank you, Mr. Head, my eighth-grade history teacher, who did not hold back when it came to teaching us the ugly history of America in my small Appalachian community.
When I think of what makes this country great, it’s not the politicians or the billionaires. It’s what I see when I look into my son's eyes and know the eyes looking back at me are his grandmother’s. The eyes of a Korean immigrant who came here in the 70s with her husband and suffered greatly at the hands of the people here who called her racist names and treated her inhumanely because she was Asian.
I see America in the faces and eyes of my friends whose fathers were paper sons from China, whose parents fled Vietnam, or left their homes in India. Friends whose ancestors were brought here in chains. Friends whose first language is not mine. Friends who are LGBTQI+. Friends whose faith systems are completely different and so wonderfully beautiful. Friends whose land was stolen by the same people who came here seeking religious freedom and were forced to live a brutal life on the reservation.
All of these people, these people I love, are what make us great. It’s not red hats or overt displays of “patriotism.” It’s about fighting for what is right. It’s about the first sentence of the Declaration of Independence.
"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness."
May we all live to stand up for what is right another day, and to remember that America is not beautiful because of a homogenized society that thinks we should all look and think one way. It is because we are a melting pot of beautiful people who dared to believe in the American dream: that every person has the freedom and opportunity to succeed and attain a better life.
The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
