As this Independence Day weekend comes to a close, I have to say I’m still proud to have been born and raised in this country. Admittedly it’s been difficult to feel that way in recent years. My paternal ancestry in Texas actually extends back to the 1580s, when a branch of the De La Garza clan joined other Spaniards established homes in the southern part of the state. My Indian ancestors, of course, were in this same region millennia ago.
I remember America’s Bicentennial very clearly. I was 12 and became swept up in the excitement of that summer’s festivities. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the U.S. came together as no one expected. The Watergate crisis had left our nation with an incredible distrust in our elected leaders, and we had slinked our way out of the Vietnam conflict the previous year. Along with oil embargoes and energy crises from a few years later and the swine flu scare, it had become tough to feel pride in this country.
But all of that seemed to melt away with the summer heat, as America basked in its own glory. Watching vintage ships off the east coast remains an especially poignant memory. I can never forget that summer and how it made everyone feel.
I just don’t feel that same level of exuberance now. I know I’ve become cynical – something that seems natural with age. But in the half century since the Bicentennial a few things look familiar. We have a Republican president; we’ve come out of some disastrous wars; we’ve had a severe economic downturn and a pandemic that made swine flu look like a brief head cold.
I often wonder how foreigners look at Americans, although I’m not too concerned with what others think. Again – an effect of aging, albeit a positive one.
Despite such anxiety, I’m still glad to be here and be living in this country. I just don’t want to give up on it and for what it stands.
Chief Writing Wolf 