Happy 4th!
So I finally bit the bullet and actually bought a paid account. Not that the unpaid account was limiting my creative freedom... but I really wanted more space for icons. I was so proud of myself when I began to customize my own mood theme, but then I became daunted and put that project off until after I have a long-term way to feed myself. Now I suppose I will need to update more.
Anyone who was in Bloomington today saw the entirety of Indiana monsoon season compressed into one day this fourth. Needless to say, the exciting display of fireworks on Lake Monroe probably didn't happen, and if it did, I was too busy towel-drying myself to make it there. Just when all was lost, network television aired a "Macy's Fourth of July" (or something) so I could get my fireworks fix for the year -even if it was on my 27 inch screen. It kinda looked like the Commission on Corporate-Sponsored Holidays decided to carpet-bomb NYC with enormous sparklers.
As I watched the fireworks this evening, I tried to gauge my reaction to the laughing babies, teary-eyed grandmothers and maimed young men in uniform. When I was much younger I use to choke up on the fourth of July, overwhelmed with pride, excitement and idealism, while holding the hands of each of my uniform-clad parents. A couple of years ago I started to dread the fourth, wondering exactly what there was to be proud of. I began to equate overt displays of patriotism with support of the war-hungry, self-proclaimed morally superior, evangelical camp that had turned my greatest source of inspiration into my deepest sense of shame.
Now, watching the rapt faces on tv, lit by the glow of thousands of tiny explosions, I sense that they feel what I do. A tentative hope, a fragile sense of optimism -founded on what, I am not exactly sure. Perhaps it is because we stare darkness in its face. Not only does it leave bombs on the front step, it waves our flag and professes the words of our God. But the one thing that has been proven in the past seven years is that ignorance, greed, dishonesty, violence and bigotry -are weak. Even with ultimate power, they burn down the house in which they live. Watching this inevitable destruction and then the dying flames, we realize that the good that is our country, the ideas that made it and the people that sustain it are absolutely solid. Things get better again. They have to, they always do. Maybe someone else said it first, but I am going to say it again. The always getting better part - that is the American spirit.
My patriotism is therefore not devotion, which I am beginning to think is dangerous, but hope which endures through the countless faulty people and ideas of my lifetime. Patriotism isn't flags or fireworks or "supporting the troops" or being politically correct or yelling "I love freedom" louder than anyone else. Patriotism is more abstract; it is a spirit. And sometimes, like I did tonight, you see in its only pure form - in the faces of your countrymen.
So that was my Fourth of July. It was patriotic, it was cheesy, it was over-the-top, and with a glass of Catawba wine, it was lovely.
Anyone who was in Bloomington today saw the entirety of Indiana monsoon season compressed into one day this fourth. Needless to say, the exciting display of fireworks on Lake Monroe probably didn't happen, and if it did, I was too busy towel-drying myself to make it there. Just when all was lost, network television aired a "Macy's Fourth of July" (or something) so I could get my fireworks fix for the year -even if it was on my 27 inch screen. It kinda looked like the Commission on Corporate-Sponsored Holidays decided to carpet-bomb NYC with enormous sparklers.
As I watched the fireworks this evening, I tried to gauge my reaction to the laughing babies, teary-eyed grandmothers and maimed young men in uniform. When I was much younger I use to choke up on the fourth of July, overwhelmed with pride, excitement and idealism, while holding the hands of each of my uniform-clad parents. A couple of years ago I started to dread the fourth, wondering exactly what there was to be proud of. I began to equate overt displays of patriotism with support of the war-hungry, self-proclaimed morally superior, evangelical camp that had turned my greatest source of inspiration into my deepest sense of shame.
Now, watching the rapt faces on tv, lit by the glow of thousands of tiny explosions, I sense that they feel what I do. A tentative hope, a fragile sense of optimism -founded on what, I am not exactly sure. Perhaps it is because we stare darkness in its face. Not only does it leave bombs on the front step, it waves our flag and professes the words of our God. But the one thing that has been proven in the past seven years is that ignorance, greed, dishonesty, violence and bigotry -are weak. Even with ultimate power, they burn down the house in which they live. Watching this inevitable destruction and then the dying flames, we realize that the good that is our country, the ideas that made it and the people that sustain it are absolutely solid. Things get better again. They have to, they always do. Maybe someone else said it first, but I am going to say it again. The always getting better part - that is the American spirit.
My patriotism is therefore not devotion, which I am beginning to think is dangerous, but hope which endures through the countless faulty people and ideas of my lifetime. Patriotism isn't flags or fireworks or "supporting the troops" or being politically correct or yelling "I love freedom" louder than anyone else. Patriotism is more abstract; it is a spirit. And sometimes, like I did tonight, you see in its only pure form - in the faces of your countrymen.
So that was my Fourth of July. It was patriotic, it was cheesy, it was over-the-top, and with a glass of Catawba wine, it was lovely.