America as a Gift

You've been gifted something beautiful. Make sure to pass it on.

As we celebrate the 248th anniversary of our country’s independence tomorrow, it’s fun to reminisce about those Independence Days of our youth when the world seemed a lot more innocent and patriotism seemed a lot more ubiquitous. I remember looking forward to Independence Day in my cozy suburban town almost as much as I looked forward to Christmas morning. An American flag waved outside of every neighbor’s house, bunting hung from every porch, and every grocery store was bereft of hot dogs, bratwurst, ground beef, buns, and propane.

The celebration started with the Independence Day parade. The other kids and I scurried around the sidewalk curbs grabbing the candy that was tossed to us as we admired all of the floats and vintage cars that passed us by. Everyone cheered at the fire department and police cruisers, stood for the veterans, and waved mini American flags until our arms got tired. The parade would conclude, and the grilling would begin. Every father in suburbia wanted to have the best spread and the largest number of guests, and mine was no different. Dozens would pour into our backyard, stacking burgers, potato chips, and watermelon slices onto paper plates while country music and classic American anthems played on the stereo. The best was yet to come, because soon we’d be congregating in the village park with our lawn chairs and blankets at dusk to experience one of the most beautiful traditions celebrated across this great country: the fireworks show. A solid hour of All-American firepower illuminating the night sky as all of us kids gazed upon it with wonder and only one thought occupied our minds: “Thank God I’m an American.”

It wasn’t until I was much, much older that I began to realize what being an “American” meant to some of my fellow countrymen. Without disclosing too much, my background could basically be boiled down to post-Civil War immigrants and 20th-century Ellis Islanders, and those were the type of people I grew up around. Once I left my suburban enclave, I met people who had more of a claim to the land than my family did. I’m not “Old Stock,” as some of my fellow Old Glory Club members are. I can’t trace my lineage to the Mayflower; I’m not part of the Old South; there are no tombstones of my ancestors going back centuries.

However, I consider myself an American not because my own blood built this nation, but because I view this nation as a gift. It is truly an honor to have grown up here, and there’s not one other place on this earth where I would want to raise my children. I want to cherish that gift, for my children to cherish that gift, and for my lineage to honor the men who risked their lives to create and build this amazing gift we call America. My fellow Ellis Islanders and I will never be Old Stock, and we shouldn’t try to act like we are, nor should we delude ourselves into thinking that the WASP tradition that created this nation imagined leaving it to people like the immigrants who arrived in the 20th century.

What we should do and, dare I say, must do is to recognize that we’ve been gifted the most amazing and beautiful home on this earth by those who came before us, who declared their independence and founded this country. We can’t trace our heritage to the Revolution; but we can defend what was built, treat it as our own, and honor the Founding Stock of this country, never allowing it simply to be handed over to those who will never see it as anything more than a meal ticket. We didn’t decide to come here, and history has placed us here for a reason, so you owe a duty to this country for all that She has bestowed upon you. So honor that duty, defend this Nation, and work tirelessly so that you can proudly tell yourself, “Thank God I’m an American.”

Happy Independence Day, and God Bless The United States of America.