250 years
I’ve learned that birthdays don’t mean a lot. In fact, they can be somewhat disappointing, a let down. Birthdays come and go.
Since this blog is about memories, I’d like to share how I
celebrated the 200th birthday of the USA.
1976 found me at a Young Life camp outside of Pittsburgh, PA.
I was a volunteer at an inner-city youth camp put on by an organization for
high schoolers called Young Life. It was considered cool Christian. My high
school allowed the club to post info in meetings on campus. I met through Young
Life a life-long friend, Jane McSweeney nee Jarrell, from Dayton, Ohio. She was
city mouse and I was if not country mouse at least Centerville-suburban mouse.
She and I were recruited for the camp, where we met Mark Bruce and a few other
Young Lifers. I didn’t work directly with the kids; I did laundry. It was a
regular machine and took forever to do many, many loads.
On the morning of the 4th, I was aware it was
supposed to be a monumental day—for the nation, not exactly me in nowhere’s ville
PA. Philadelphia and Washington DC and Boston, but the celebratory events were
random outside cities. I had plans after my morning devotions to run to the
cross atop a nearby hill. I was up and back and did not feel a patriotic
thrill. How was I supposed to feel?
I wonder if young people today might be asking themselves
this same question. War does not always create a surge of pride. Concepts of
liberty and freedom are subjective—how free are you when saddled with student
loans, medical debt, etc? What if you are a woman seeking to end an unwanted pregnancy,
where is your freedom of choice? To make decisions for yourself and family?
In a political atmosphere reduced to winners and losers—I have
trouble calculating where I stand. Citizen. I live here and identify as American--I’m
still trying to figure out what that means.
Fifty years later, I won’t be able to run—I’ll have to postpone until after I get the all clear from my eye doctor after the cataract surgery. While all around me will be fireworks, drone light displays, gunfire, back-porch sparklers, patriotic music, marching bands, speechifying, introversion, questioning, all semblance of growth pains. Together.
I will not see another 50 years.
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