The Fourth

It’s July 4^th 1976, and I’m sitting in the den of my childhood home watching the first Macy’s fireworks show on our 30-inch tube television. Sitting cross legged on the floor of the multi- colored shag wall to wall, I take in the bursting display complete with patriotic score and hear my parents talking in the background. It’s after 9 PM and after a family barbecue, my mom has kicked off her sandals and has her feet tucked up on the plaid couch where she sits. My dad full of chicken, potato salad and eggplant parmesan is sitting in the yellow leather recliner with matching ottoman that I still think of to this day and wish that I had kept.

I yawn and glance at my sister who’s trying to stay awake as she lies on the couch next to my mother, who’s stroking her hair. “It’s our two hundredth celebration,” my dad states for the umpteenth time that week. “We won’t be alive to witness something like this again,” he goes on. “I wish my father was here to see this one.”

My mother nods and watches the show. It’s playing The Battle Hymn of the Republic, one of her favorites. “I love this song,” she says.

My grandfather was brought to the US from Italy by his parents at the turn of the 20^th century when he was just a little boy. He went on to become a veteran of WWI and sought special permission to fight in WWII because he was over the age limit. He died when I was nine.

My grandmothers were still alive then and my mom’s mother had been there that day with my aunts, uncles and some of my cousins. My mom’s mother had been born in 1900 in the US from Italian immigrants. She spoke Italian and English, but no one ever thought to teach Italian to us. Damn.

So, it was 1976, July 4^th, after Watergate, after Nixon, after Vietnam. Gerald Ford was our president, and I would decide later that the best thing about him was his wife, Betty, who stood up and said that she supported a women’s right to choose. And three years earlier in 1973, the Supreme Court granted women that right with a 7-2 vote striking down state and federal abortions restrictions, as later stated in the 14^th amendment.

My parents were proud that night. They were always proud of this country. Their country, they called it. Children of The Great Depression, adolescents of World War II, a vet of the Korean War. They came from families that worked hard, and many times had the world look down upon them. Italians in the fifties and the sixties, in white suburbia. It wasn’t always easy. But my parents were proud. My grandfather was proud. And now we are… proud?

It’s hard to be proud today. I can be proud of my family. I can be proud of surviving. I can be proud of not losing my mind the past ten years. But it’s hard to be proud of this country. It’s hard to be proud of a society that is detaining people in subhuman conditions. It’s hard to be proud of children being taken from their parents by cars that pull up in the streets and surround them. It’s hard to be proud of protestors dying. It’s hard to be proud of trans individuals losing their rights. It’s hard to be proud of voter suppression. It’s hard to be proud of women being denied lifesaving medical care because of where they live. It’s hard to be proud of women having life changing decisions made for them. It’s hard being proud of children being raped and abused and having people cover it up. It’s hard being proud of healthcare being cut and school lunches being cut and food subsidies being cut and gas prices and utility prices being raised and food prices becoming close to intolerable.

I tell myself things aren’t always easy. And throughout history countries have done horrible things. That’s no excuse though, and it’s not a reason to be proud. But the things I’ll be proud of are these:

My parents, my grandfather, my family, my dog.

The artists and writers that keep working. The journalists that keep reporting the facts.

The truthtellers. And those that push for the truth.

The comedians and the laughter they bring us.

The pediatricians, the oncologists, the heart surgeons, and all the scientists who have to deal with our current Dept of Health.

The Environmentalists that fight to protect the land we live on.

The Federal Judges who uphold the law.

The Constitution.

The East Wing where First Ladies and women once worked.

The people that are trying to help those who need help.

Food pantries, Election workers, The National Parks Department.

The oldest living cherry tree in DC.

The Statue of Liberty

I’ll be proud of these things tomorrow, and part of me will be in that den in 1976 when rights were being granted instead of being denied.

Happy 4th