I grew up in a patriotic culture. It was, after all, the Reagan era, the 80s, when we were the shining city on a hill, the winners of the gymnastics gold, the best of the best. We were very sure of it.
Then I became a military spouse and felt like I epitomized patriotism when, every single night, as the national anthem was played over the neighborhood speakers located around our military-base housing, we all had to stop, and our military spouse had to salute until the song faded away from the scratchy-sounding speakers. My role was to stand still. Or at least keep our kid from running unpatriotically across the yard. Ahhhh, these were sweet and easy days.
Later, I lived in another country and understood that basic rights I’d never considered, such as heading to vote without fear of violence happening to me, were not so basic in other parts of the globe. I loved my country even more.
I still love her. But, like others I have loved, she is breaking my heart.
The idea of America is a place where, if you dream big enough and work hard enough, you will certainly achieve financial security.
The reality of America is that, if you are beautiful or can play a sport well enough, or make a sex tape, you can become wealthy. If you work hard, the costs of your taxes and your insurance and your kids’ college educations somehow seem to rise in a pace that leaves your paycheck breathless, and the only solution seems to be to work harder and longer and enjoy your dream less and less.
The idea of America is a place where communities and towns gather to celebrate, circle around to mourn, to give aid to those who need it most.
The reality of America is that many people are lonely, isolated, never seen and understood; many are outside the circle of help.
The idea of America is a copper lady on an island, holding high her torch to welcome those fleeing certain death.
The reality of America is a cage crowded with children who have no idea where their parents have been taken.
The idea of America is a Main Street where small shops and tiny restaurants can flourish and thrive.
The reality of America is a few giant conglomerates gobbling up the buildings and land and growing bigger and lustier, their greedy stomachs never satiated.
The idea of America is a smooth, paved sidewalk where families can stroll and people can jog and wave politely at one another.
The reality of America is that, if your skin is a bit darker than mine, you must outrun a bullet.
The idea of America is a land where children who are unwanted can be adopted into families, where mothers who cannot or should not care for their babies are supported and helped and loved.
The reality of America is a place where, far too often, frightened, unsupported women and girls feel they have no other option than to end a life. They find condemnation instead of a hand to help and to hold them.
The idea of America is a place where the elders are given their rightful place around the fire.
The reality of America is that our elderly are mocked, hidden away, the value of their wisdom and hard-won lessons never given room to be shared. There is little space or grace for their confusion and loss.
The idea of America is a place where our military people are rewarded for the physical and mental cost they were willing to pay.
The reality of America is that our military people are often asked to do tasks that they later cannot reconcile with their consciences. And then they are left without the safety net of good therapy. They remain, sitting for hours in dingy waiting rooms, while their bodies and minds ache.
The ideals we hold for our country and the reality need not be miles apart. Instead, let us cross the streets, the political aisles, the church doors, the sidewalks, to talk. To listen. To remember that we who were lucky enough to be born here are still the luckiest in the world, and that those who came here should be given the chance to join us around the table. That we can make ideas into reality. It’s what our country was made from: Ideas about liberty and equality that made a king and a world laugh. But we made those ideals happen: It took work and guts and blood and sacrifice and giving up freedom in order to gain new freedoms.
Your ideas about America and mine might not be the same. But we won’t bring a dream into breathing and growing by harsh words, by allowing our rage to overflow into destructive actions. We must be willing to nourish her and bring her back, until ideals and reality are not so very far apart.
