A 30-foot flagpole stands behind my house. Two flags fly from its top, day and night, never taken down: Old Glory, and beneath it, the Navy Jack--a rattlesnake stretched across a field of red and white stripes above the words "Don't Tread On Me." I mutely pledge allegiance to these flags almost every morning at sunrise, while standing on the deck with my first cup of coffee. The house sits on land thick with trees. The flags cannot be seen from the road, but they are not for public display. They are for me, because I'm a true believer.
I'm not a pious man. I'm easily seduced by beauty and daydreams, by the pleasures of women and song (and a little wine, too), and when angry, which is often, I turn the air blue. I'm flawed, and not pious, but I am a religious man. Not conspicuously, but I live in a state of repentance and go to church, come hell, high water or impending kick-off, and wear a tie and jacket when I do, out of respect. I don't look down on those who don't wear their Sunday best (at least they're there), but I wish they did. If Christ can hang on a cross and die for my benefit, wearing a tie for an hour is the least I can do. Although I can't prove it and don't try, that God actively exists has been proven to me to my satisfaction and the comfort is unspeakable. I'm a true believer.
I've always had intimations of immortality and a palpable sense of something more. Keeping faith--in God, country, with family and friends and community--comes naturally. I'm made for love. I'm a family dog. What's on my mind comes out of my mouth more quickly than it should. I wear my heart on my sleeve because I can't hide it and have nowhere else to put it. I can't help it and don't care who likes it. I'm a true believer.
I'm a fortunate son, born on the path of least resistance. I've never felt unloved, nor burdened with more than I could carry. My parents--and their parents--were always there for me and stayed together until death. I've gotten all I deserved and most of what I wanted. I've never been anything but free to go where I wished and to succeed and fail on my own terms, and to learn from both. It took me some time to understand that I should always swim in gratitude, but the light came on and made me a true believer.
I was born in the greatest nation humanity has known, or perhaps can know. It is blind and ahistorical to deny American exceptionalism, for we have been the light of the world. We neither deny nor fight human nature, but accommodate and encourage the best of it to come out, knowing that, without the strife of freedom, this is impossible, while with it, little is impossible. We are different colors, hold different creeds and compete in a tumultuous marketplace, but in times of trouble, an almost reverent unity has shone through. We're hungry, frivolous consumers--need machines rioting down the open road--but at bottom, Americans know what really matters. Beneath our getting and spending, we have an instinct for virtue. And I'm not sure that, ultimately, we don't love one another, and that, in the end, we're not a nation of true believers.
Independence Day is for fellowship, remembrance and renewal. Today, a parade will pass me. Boots will tromp, drums will pound, my blood will stir. It happens every time. Flags will pass, my throat will clench, my eyes might water. Despite all the empty houses and idle workers, despite empty, idle promises and feckless leaders and blood-crazed barbarians at the gates, I remain very proud to be an American. Tomorrow, we will resume the struggle to ensure that America's future springs from the same source as her past. My spirits will rise and fall, but I believe we will win this struggle, because we have proven to be the noblest of people. We have been great because we have been good. We will be good again, when we have to be, but my faith in this, like faith itself, is inexpressible. So, with you, I'll just drink it in and breathe freedom. Because where I live, people dream and good things happen, and where I'm going, trouble cannot follow. I'm a true believer.
Copyright (c) 2011, Daniel Crocker. All rights reserved.
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