America’s 250th anniversary arrived just after I marked a more personal milestone: my 50th year as an American. I left the Soviet Union with my divorced mother and widowed grandmother in December 1975. After a few months in Vienna and Rome, we arrived in Los Angeles on April 28, 1976, shortly before the bicentennial celebrations. I was 6 years old. Now I have lived to witness fully 20 percent of America’s history.
It sometimes feels as if very little has changed. After all, in 1976 the nation was grappling with the aftermath of a scandal-marred presidency, an oil shock, a losing war and high inflation. Sound familiar? But, whatever the superficial similarities, the changes have been more significant. Many of these transformations are disorienting and not all are positive. But most are, and that gives me greater hope for the next 50 years than I would have from simply reading the dismaying headlines of today.
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