I AM…

a tired American.

Photo by Stephanie McCabe on Unsplash

I am tired.

Tired of being tired.

It’s not because my body is failing me (although it technically is). I am tired of being an American. Of having my red, white, and blue trampled, disrespected, and synonymous with the definition of insanity. Of building the monuments only to have them knocked down.

My grandfather, a staunch Democrat, was born on the Fourth of July. Mom likes to regale us with what that meant for the family in her younger years: an annual cold bottle of R.C. Cola and a vat of homemade ice cream.

In later years, our family reunions were initially a dual birthday celebration for our country and for Pop-paw. As children, we each got a sparkler to play with, under supervision, of course. We ate hot dogs (the Southern way with coleslaw) and watermelon and collected fireflies in Mason jars at dusk.

We spent our time constructing the perfect s’more, not re-inventing the wheel.

That is America. Wrapped up in a Norman Rockwell painting. I don’t care how idyllic I sound.

So, yes, I am tired of being an American. I am tired of justifying my position in this society. I was born a free, white female. And that’s that. There should be no explanation necessary. The Founding Fathers are at a card table in Heaven, considering an ante that divides our country while trying not to fold.

The fate of our country is in God’s hands, but I sometimes think He’s shaking his head as we hide behind the swinging chainsaws.

With regard to that, I am what I am, and I am an American, living in hope with my fingers crossed.

I am an American. A tired American, but an American nonetheless.

As we close in on our country’s 250th birthday, I pray for a joyous celebration.

Lisa, Lady With the Cane

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