Postcards From the Lake -- Reflections On the Fourth

Recently I was cleaning out paperwork at home and came across an essay I'd written in 1976, shortly after the 200 year anniversary of the United States of America was celebrated -- the Bicentennial. I put it in a safe place so I could bring it out to share this year. And you all know how that goes. Safe places are only safe from burglars, but good luck finding what you hid!

 

But what I remember is that it was a document filled with great joy and hope. I recounted the things of that happened that day. Not just the fireworks; that happens every year (and frankly, I'd rather they didn't. So does Lizzie.)

 

No, I wrote about how everyone rang bells at a certain hour for 200 times. My neighbor had one of those magnificent tall dinner bells and you could hear it for quite a distance. We rang the bell that used to be outside our door, a bit of a mini-dinner bell that we used for a doorbell. 

I'm sure there was a parade downtown, but I gave that one a miss. Why be in the hot downtown when you could be at the sunny lake? (Many years later, after I met Rick, he would ride to a town called Central Lake, about 50 miles away and we'd watch their charming small town parade, then enjoy a picnic.)

 

You know the kind -- farmers decorate their tractors, clowns pass out candy, people walk with their dogs, and Miss Every-Town-In-The-North sits on floats lovingly created by enthusiastic volunteers. It was no Rose Parade, but it had heart. 

 

Back at the cottage, there was a boat parade with powerboats and pontoons decked out in red, white and blue. It was the first of what has become a tradition. My cousins and I would be on the beach, cheering as they passed. That was followed by dinner -- in our case, a grilled out dinner, not unlike so many we enjoy throughout the summer. 

 

Dad probably did hamburgers and hot dogs; mom would make her own potato salad and we'd have pie for dessert. (Probably cherry, with memories of George Washington and his legendary cherry tree chopping.) If the cousins were there -- and they usually were -- we'd all eat together, a wonderful pot luck. There were always deviled eggs!

 

And after dinner we would pull our chairs onto the beach or stay within the screened porch to avoid the bugs.

 

It was time for the aforementioned fireworks, shot off right across the lake from us. It was a gala end to a gala celebration with ringside seats.

 

Most of all, there was a grand feeling of hope, enthusiasm, patriotism. joy to be part of this country.  

 

Fast Forward Fifty Years  

I have a very ambivalent relationship with July 4 these days, for a variety of reasons. It's quite like being forced to attend a special event when you're not that fond of the guest of honor and would rather be home with a good book. It has never been my favorite holiday. So many people carelessly set off their own fireworks, which freaks me out, with good reason. (A few years ago, someone's firework went into the roof of the next door neighbor and I joined others in watching the fire engines crammed onto our tiny road.) When it comes to July 4 I've become a bit of a curmudgeon.

But the main reason I'm struggling with "America 250" in particular is that I am ashamed of what our country has become. It feels like only Ken Burns (and a few others) are recalling the history that went into the making of this country. Instead, we cannot escape the damage that has been done in the past two years. And let's be honest -- that damage will take decades to repair -- if it can be repaired at all. I'm not sure all the delicious holiday food on the prettily decorated holiday table and the festive merriment can override that underlying feeling.

 

So many of you read this blog are from other countries and you may or may not realize how deeply the damage list goes. But you should know -- and you should also know that many Americans (a significant majority, according to multiple polls) recognize this and don't like it either. I feel as if we should apologize to the world.

How do we celebrate when good people who are trying to become Americans are being arrested and deported, many -- perhaps most -- of whom have been "following the rules" as they wait for their immigration hearings, visa renewals or citizenship? We are a country built on the backs of immigrants, yet now that seems to be forgotten. (For a fascinating look at how Americans identify based on geographical region, check out this map from New York Times based on census data and the corresponding article. It digs deep, right down to specific city neighborhoods nationwide). 

 

First amendment rights are being violated and the poor, disabled, LGBTQ and many others have become marginalized in our government's eyes. Our elections are in terrible peril of being overtaken by a government afraid of the outcome. 

 

We started a needless war that has left us -- and the world -- in a far worse position than before and have insulted and bailed on our allies and those struggling for democracy in countries like Ukraine while cozying up to dictators. What would those who died in World War II fighting fascism say about the country they fought for now?

 

While people are struggling to deal with heavily increased prices in food, energy, housing and gasoline, gaudy monuments are being built with our tax dollars. We have a president who surrounds himself with both manipulators and sycophants who are so afraid of him, so afraid of losing their positions in the Congress, that they go along with his every request.

 

Then There Is the Flag

Which brings us to July 4, this celebration and its greatest symbol, the flag. It's a lovely, symbolic piece of work with its stars representing each state and stripes representing the original 13 colonies. (Frankly, I find it a little busy from a design point but I appreciate the symbolism). There are even proper rules as to when and how to fly and fold it (though most people don't bother). Still, that ceremony can be quietly impressive. 

I fly mine on this holiday with reservation. I feel it has been co-opted by others who believe so differently than I about the purpose of our country. "Give me your tired, your poor. Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free," wrote Emma Lazarus. We were once a safe place for immigrants leaving their homelands in fear or in search of a better life. Today's immigrants and asylum seekers are being "detained," in centers with deplorable conditions. Did we learn nothing from the "relocation" centers -- call them concentration camps, because that's how historians refer to them -- that we created during World War II to imprison Japanese-Americans? And then these men, women and children are deported, often to countries where their return is a death sentence. Is this what we have become? Is this the country we celebrate?

 

We were the "land of the free, the home of the brave." Now many are constrained in what they can say or do, human rights have been violated, and most members of Congress are anything but brave.

 

I want our flag back. I would like to fly it with joy and pride, not obligation. This is not what our forefathers planned on when they penned the Declaration of Independence. We broke away from a monarchy and palaces of gold and built a People's House for our president, not our king. 

 

And so this year, I'm on the fence with this celebration. I long for the feelings of that 24 year-old woman I used to be who was filled with joy and hope at this holiday but I have very little. I have some. We must have some. But it is waning. 

 

And so . . . 

I will put our my little flag and stars in the flower pots and on the beach and probably put the big flag they gave me when Dad died on the clothesline. (You never want to pound nails into asbestos shingles.) 

We'll watch the lake fireworks on July 3 and on the fourth will cook out. I'll set a cute table. It will be festive. 

And it should be, because we really do have something to celebrate.  

We've made it through countless struggles in our troublesome past. Slavery. A Civil War. World wars. Civil rights. A depression. Pandemics. Pioneers crossed this vast ad beautiful country to build cities and people with roots from all over the world helped to create a country that one day we will again be proud of.

 

We can celebrate our resilience, our ability to stand up for what we believe and those who have the power to bring about change -- with our help. We can celebrate the men and women of the press who continue to correct the falsehoods and reveal the secrets of our administration, the things that our leaders don't want the people to hear. We can remember the strength, commitment and determination of the Minneapolis community as ICE agents ruthlessly took their citizens away and yes, even killed them. We can celebrate those in this country who fight greed with generosity and hate with kindness. 

We must not be like the fireworks that burst loudly, glow briefly and then fade into cinders as they fall quietly to the ground. We must stay vigilant and bright and loud not forget that we have a voice only as long as we use it.

 

Because I do believe in America. I just don't believe in what we have become. And I have to believe that it can be reclaimed. 

 

Meanwhile, I wish you all a happy Fourth of July holiday if you are in the United States. Eat hearty, party well. And remember  -- 

 

We must all be the change.