It's almost 10:30 in the morning, and I find myself with a bittersweet feeling. I don't have the choice to go or not go to the fireworks tonight. Tonight will be a quiet night, and I'll be left without my 4th of July ritual of quietly steaming at the yahoos who celebrate with their own fireworks late into the morning hour. I won't be smelling BBQs today as I mill about Paris, and I won't feel amusement spiced with a twinge of annoyance towards the people decked out head-to-toe in red, white, and blue (although this was a more common feeling in my rural-come-suburb hometown of Manteca, and less so in the Bay Area).
The anticipated loss of the external cues of my country's holiday leaves me feeling wistful and sentimental. I love my country. She's beautiful, ideological, and ever changing. Sure, I can't stand her sometimes, and oftentimes feel embarrassed on her behalf. But, I am also proud of her. I admire her resilence and growth. She is at times like a troubled teen still finding her way. She has come a long way--and has done many wonderful things--in her short life. I'm hopeful about her future. She's of good stock, has good values (although she doesn't always act from them!), is beautiful, and is loaded with charm, color, and character. Above all, I feel blessed to call her Home.
Happy 4th of July!
2 comments:
I dunno. Looks like the French rue American independence.
Not as much as they rue the Americans.
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