I thought today I’d reflect on my feeling of being an American, and why the 4th of July goes beyond barbeques, burgers and dogs off the grill and the wonder of fireworks going off above our glistening eyes.
I am the only child of parents who immigrated here after World War II, my Father from England and my Mother from Ireland. What led them here was the call of possibility, the allure of the United State’s technicolor dream of abundance and fortunes. Unlike the weight of post-war Great Britain (neither of them could find work in their chosen fields), they came here and latched on to jobs immediately. My Dad started off in New York, and moved to Los Angeles where he met my Mom (who had come directly to LA).
Growing up I was aware of the unique difference of my parents: their accents remained and they managed to retain many of their native traits in our home. I was left to figure out sports, the outdoors and other recreational activities pretty much on my own. I leaned upon my friends and their families who graciously included me on camping trips, waterskiing, mountain cabins and finally seeing snow for the first time.
In fairness, my folks weren’t exposed to any of these things, as they came of age between great wars in a depression. What my Mom did introduce me to was travel: we spent the summers in Europe when I was 6, 9 and 15. From London, Newcastle-upon-Tyne (my Dad’s hometown), Dublin, Bangor (my Mom’s hometown), Barcelona, Athens and the Isle of Rhodos. I loved airports, taking off and landing, the amazing color of the European landscapes, the smell of the soot in cities, cups of tea and the feeling of being different than my Irish cousins. I was the Yank! And, though a part of this clan, I was an offshoot from the faraway place called California.
After college my buddy Steve and I made our way back to Europe to fully exploit the terrific deal that was the Eurorail pass. For 5 months we made our way through the Continent, from Northern Ireland to the Greek Peloponnese peninsula. Being on strict budget (i.e. no money) we slept on many trains, read enormous novels, found cheap but fine wine, met many fellow travelers and had the gift of not having to hurry back home (where the dreaded ‘real world’ and ‘real job’ awaited us).
So during those early trips and the most recent ones, I have found myself feeling more aware of my American -ness than I do at home. Perhaps it starts with lining-up upon entering a given country with my U.S. passport, but then it’s built upon the unavoidable tendency of comparing the food and art to back home. I try to remain objective as I envy many aspects of Old World culture and lifestyle. But in conversation where President Trump came up again and again, I ultimately excused myself from the conversation. I will defend the great possibilities and achievements of the United States, but at a certain point not everything I hear about is defensible.
I have heard that a great society, a great nation can be defined by its degree of mercy. Here’s wishing everyone a Happy Independence Day, with the hope that we continue as Americans to embody the positive tenets, ideals, possibilities and signs of mercy established by those who made the United States possible.
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