I saw America the other day.
Her pigtails were sweaty, and her cleats clanked on the floor of the store. Her knees were muddy but her ball cap was straight. I have no idea what kind of magic cloth baseball uniforms are made of, but this one was well-worn as a soldier’s fatigues. Her mom was picking up some laundry detergent, because even in victory, clothes have to be washed.
The little girl told a school friend in the checkout line that the team had won, and now they were going to go have pizza. Freckles and all, she was about as American of a kid one could hope to see. Norman Rockwell would have wept in despair of trying to capture her spirit in a painting.
I thought about the young queen of the diamond the other day when another Women’s National Basketball player was spouting off about how America is “trash”. She is just the latest to find fame and probable fortune disrespecting the country that allows her to make more money in a year playing a ballgame than is generated by my business.
I thought it was amusing in a way, since another ballplayer recently had a sudden change of patriotic heart when she was imprisoned in Russia for breaking Russian laws. The ridiculous machinations that led to her release are a column for another day.
That other ballplayer also hated America. She knelt when the National Anthem was played, and made nasty remarks about people whose skin, politics and sexual nature were different from hers. Funny how her tune changed when she had a little visit in the real world outside the United States.
I was at lunch with a buddy the day the television broke the news of her release. The commentator noted that some Americans were of the attitude that the imprisoned ballplayer needed to just stay in Russia, since she hated America so much.
My friend sighed and shifted in his chair. A back injury earned in combat makes it hard for him to sit for long periods of time. He also gave his knees and a shoulder to defend the United States of America, and regrets the fact that the military no longer wants him, due to his injuries earned in its service.
“Hard to believe that we fight for people like that, but we do,” he said. He said as he had before, that he would give his life if necessary for people to have the right to disagree with everything he holds dear.
Sitting there in a diner with a checkered floor, watching the owner practically run between tables taking orders, I saw America in my friend and all around me.
When I was in college eons ago, some of those folks who desperately clung to the ideals of the 1960s were now professors, and they gathered some of my fellow students who were desperately seeking something. It was hard in the 80s to convince anyone to fight the power or do away with the bourgeoise or whatever, so most of them protested for abortion, against climate change, and decried American military interventions that nobody could understand, much less find on the map.
One night some of them sabotaged the main flagpole on campus. It wasn’t a serious sabotage, but it was more than the usual prank of running underwear or shoes up the pole.
A friend was going by on his morning run, and saw the handiwork of the protestors. It offended him, deeply — his dad and grandfather had served in combat, and he was studying constitutional law and history. He began clearing the knots from the line and pulling down the homemade flag protesting something that’s long forgotten, but was important to someone at the time.
He had been fighting with the rope for several minutes when someone stepped up and asked to help. It was the chancellor of the university. As “an old Navy man,” he knew rope. Together, they got the line cleared, and the chancellor himself raised the American flag in the prescribed manner.
My friend suggested that maybe the school could somehow lock the ropes. The chancellor disagreed.
As long as Old Glory wasn’t disrespected, he was okay with the protest prank. He disagreed, vehemently, with the position held by the pranksters, but he just as vehemently believed in their right to make a statement — even though, he added, they needed to find other places on campus to make their mischief.
It amazes me sometimes how many people take for granted all that we have as Americans. Some try to stifle the free speech of others, either out of fear or disagreement. Some who get into power suddenly forget that it was a democratic process that got them there, and they want to behave like those folks our ancestors rebelled against, consolidating power and controlling all narratives, since apparently their own positions can’t stand on their own merits.
Thankfully, we still have the ability and the responsibility to stand up to folks like that and express our own positions. Then folks can decide to agree or disagree with either side. That’s the beauty of the system. Every time I see someone stand before a board of commissioners or a town council and call them out, I see America. Every time I go to a voting station, I see America.
One of the most fiercely patriotic Americans I have ever know had a different perspective that made me treasure my freedoms. He came here as a refugee, and worked long and hard. I helped him study for his citizenship exam, which he aced (on his own, in my opinion). His son played baseball, and my friend made sure his children, both those born here and those who were naturalized, knew and meant the words of the Pledge of Allegiance. I saw him with tears in his eyes once when we happened to be near each other and the National Anthem was performed.
When I looked at him, I saw America.
I see America in every church service, in every small business that is the result of sweat and tears and sacrifice, on every shooting range, in every courthouse where justice is blind, in every book, newspaper or magazine I read, or even in social media when I disagree with what is said.
I see America in my friend who runs a charity warehouse, helping those in need, and I see America in another friend, whose philanthropy comes from growing up on the wrong side of the tracks, and knowing what it is like to be in need.
As we celebrated Independence Day this week, we saw a lot of symbols of America—flags, patriotic bunting, even tiny bathing suits patterned after the Stars and Stripes. There was a plethora of patriotic music, parades, festivals and fireworks. All that is fine and good, I guess.
But I don’t need a special occasion, even such a special one as the day we broke up with a tyrant, to see America — and neither should any American.
True, we have problems. We have major problems.
But we also have the ability to solve those problems because of the rights we have as Americans, rights we should never take for granted, rights that were purchased with blood and sweat and long nights without sleep, all in the hopes of providing something better for a future generation.
I sincerely hope that someday, before it’s too late, we can all see America, every time we open our eyes.
