And I'm Proud to Be an American, Where At Least I Have Buc-ee's

Little did I know that, in order to feel pride in my country, I just needed to watch an Italian man’s reaction to free soda refills.

“It’s free!” he exclaims to his friend.

“You paid for it,” he replies.

“But only ONCE”, he exuberantly cries.

And a German man driving through the South, Scottish people in kilts in Boston, Irish people discovering American snacks in Walmart, an Italian man finding a slice of home in a New Jersey deli, a couple overjoyed by a Texan man buying them welcome drinks.

It’s sort of like when you’re down in the dumps and your friend comes in to hype you up. Remind you of your strengths. Yes, a lot of those strengths might lead to Type II diabetes, but you contain multitudes! You can be in two states at once. Four states even! You can hike through the desert in Joshua Tree, drive through the bayou in Louisiana, dip your feet in the Atlantic Ocean, the Gulf of Mexico, and the Pacific Ocean without leaving the country. Marvel at an eagle flying around a crowded college stadium and central AC.

I burned a CD mix in 8th grade that deserves to be in one of those time capsules people are supposed to open in 2050. I wish I could see their faces after stumbling upon an ancient, scratched up, blue discman stuffed in the box along with a fragile pair of black wired headphones. After ordering the last remaining set of double AA batteries in the solar system, they take turns listening. Aaliyah’s “Try Again” and “If Your Girl Only Knew”? Enrique Iglesias’ “Hero”? Lee Greenwood’s “And I’m Proud to Be An American”?

In what world do the hypnotic R&B beats of Aaliyah follow Lee Greenwood?

I was never good at transitions.

Aaliyah died when her private plane went down after filming a music video 2.5 weeks before 9/11/01. That CD is a snapshot in time. I was almost 14 and believed George Bush would be our worst President ever (hold my clear Coke and 3D Doritos, please) and that terrorist attacks and bombs dropped in far away places, not 40 min by train from where I lived, (if you take the express to Penn Station).

Share

The consequences of 9/11 were catastrophic. Our government took a terrorist attack and used it to wage war on two countries, taking advantage of the grief masquerading as vengeance, the potential profits of a Middle Eastern conflict for the few, and fear of weapons of mass destruction. Nothing was worse than being labeled as “soft on terror” by Fox News.

And yet, what I remember is listening to Z100 in my room long after my mom shut off the TV and said maybe we don’t need to keep watching people jump from burning skyscrapers. During the weeks that followed, there was no music on local radio, at least not on Z100. Maybe a handful of songs were played, including “Hero”.

The version seared into my brain included snippets of New Yorkers talking about how they were helping one another. It was more powerful than calls for retribution or finger-pointing. It was “the better angels of our nature,” as President Abraham Lincoln put it in his 1861 Inaugural Address. It was community.

That same desire for community exists, possibly even more so now after experiencing COVID lockdowns and social distancing. It’s why the Knicks win and the World Cup feels so much bigger than just a game, just a tournament.

It’s the stew, not the melting pot, which is really just an assimilation metaphor, that makes our country great in a non-problematic, no red-hat kind of way.

Things are pretty terrible right now. People in positions of power are doing terrible things, regular people are supporting those terrible people doing terrible things by voting them into office, the attacks on trans people are terrible, 24/7 news is terrible, the war with Iran is terrible, inflation is terrible. But if you take yourself outside, you might run into a German excitedly eating Waffle House at 12 a.m., or an Australian discovering Olive Garden’s endless breadsticks, or an English person marveling at the Blue Ridge Range.

The most excitement I’ve seen online surrounding America’s 250th birthday next month comes from people realizing some of these visitors will be here for the 4th of July. We may not feel collectively festive as a nation, but there’s a desire to put on a real party for our guests. Maybe we can borrow their American-themed plastic glasses along with their joy and see things through a different lens. The possibility of what this nation could be if we wrest it out of the hands of the few. And as we raise our sparklers to the sky, maybe we’ll catch a flicker or two of what feels a little bit like hope.

-Meredith

Share