All the past 4th of July celebrations in my life are rolled up together. Just like everyone else has a storage bank full of memories about this thoroughly American holiday.
here were the years when our family invariably were camping in Canada over the 4th - where our date has no meaning. (A reminder that the USA is not the only country in the world.) There were my childhood's BBQ chicken on the grill, repeated periodically over the years. There were firework displays over Lake Minnetonka in Wayzata.
Today I ponder - what exactly does this day mean? For some it is a time to party and gather together with family and friends. For others it is the 1812 Overture played full-blast on PBS and cheering with the cannons - no matter how anti-war one might be. It is flag-waving and remembering our history. It is reminding ourselves of who we are - in this time of unemployment that threatens to become chronic, this time of melting glaciers and rising average temperatures even for Minnesota's beloved north woods, and this time of exponential technological growth that shrinks our globe almost daily.
It is not the same country in which I grew up. My world then was the Minnesota prairie of white families dominated by men who were served by submissive women. My life today stands in stark contrast to the person I was brought up to be. (Ask Clem if I submissively serve his every need!). If I live long enough, being a white American will mean being part of a minority group.
Being in someone else's country is like a camera lens, a means to look at my country through someone else's eyes and and opportunity to catch a glimpse their country through my eyes. Those chance conversations (whether the person speaks my version of English or not) about our respective lives, our families, our politics.Yet I am thoroughly American, even with my love to travel in distant cultures.
What does it mean - this being American?
Elizabeth
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