7.05.2005

Freedom - let that shit ring

The fourth of July…is there any holiday more pure in its tradition, sanctified in its meaning, and hallowed in it dignity? Truly the almost unfathomably beautiful meaning of liberty, of freedom and self-rule become clear on this, the celebration of the first modern democracy.

It’s easy to forget what it means to live in freedom, easy to take it for granted. It’s a remarkable gift to have a day to pause, reflect and celebrate this incredible gift that so many have fought, on the battlefield, in the courthouse, from the words of pamphlets and podia, to build and preserve.

I’ve always had to choke back a tear at the unified front we show as a people by the waves of “July 4th, 2005” t-shirts that people buy year after year. Oh sure, they know it’s silly to purchase a shirt for a single day, but they do it, not because it’s cheap consumerism, or because they’re victims of advertising, but to show a renewed commitment to Old Navy. Excuse me, I mean, America. I don’t know why I said Old Navy – a company whose products are made in China. Huh.

Every year I am inspired by the selfless citizens who, in an incredible show of self-sacrifice, injure themselves with explosives – perhaps first having a nip or two from the bottle to steel their nerves – to show empathy and solidarity with those who fought in the revolution. And to the countless throngs who leave their illegal explosives and beer bottles in the street strewn dangerously and carelessly about, as if to remind us what life could be like if we didn’t have laws and a society based on social-contract.

But this year…this year was special. We’ve moved into a new house and a house across the street and decided to dedicate the whole day to celebrating freedom. I was especially impressed to see a young child there to witness this dedication. It was around 2:00pm, while showing this young child how to hold a lit bottle-rocket, that, somehow – in this desert town that is suffering a drought – when one of their rockets landed in the dry brush of the 90 year old woman’s house next door, a fire started! Well, after M and I went over to put the fire out, these selfless citizens joined in with a cereal bowl full of water, by kicking some dirt, and by watching us. They, perhaps a bit discouraged by starting a fire, decided to refrain from explosives for the rest of the day. It saddened me, I must admit, to see their democratic fervor so easily tempered. But I needn’t have worried. The terrorists would be wise to learn that American pride is not so easily squelched! It wasn’t an hour or two later before more people had come to join the celebration and more, bigger, fireworks were being set off! Hurrah!

These brave patriots made sure that everyone around them understood the importance of the day through several acts like shooting bottle-rockets at passing cars shouting timeless phrases from our historical documents, such as, “Fuck you!” and, “Get a new car, asshole!”. It was still daylight, so there was no “rockets’ red glare” but they got the point. Then… I’m sorry, I must pause for moment. The kindness and spirit of the moment was almost too much.

Okay. Then, perhaps concerned that those around them were letting the momentous day slip by without proper reflection sent a wake-up call by – it would turn out – setting fire to four people’s homes and property around them with their bottle-rockets.

Including mine.

After dousing the fire I went over to show my gratitude. In a display of wonderful role-modeling for the young boy, they all showed how the revolutionaries used to evade the British through quick-thinking and subterfuge, by saying that, though they were holding fireworks in their hands (and one guy was hitting a roman candle with a hammer for some reason) that they had not been firing fireworks, but rather the neighbors had been. Going along with the jest, I said that if they happened to see these “neighbors” could they let them know that they had just set my fucking house on fire. At this point, a young woman – who may have been struggling with disability because she stumbled and slurred a bit – offered me advice. If my house was on fire, she said, I should “probably hose that shit down.” Wise counsel, young maiden. Wise counsel. And isn’t that part of what makes America great? That two people from such different backgrounds could come together to share knowledge and arrive at higher truth.

If someone has set fire to your home? Hose that shit down, brother. Hose that shit down.

While I was doing this, several neighbors phoned some of our civil servants – the police and fire departments, specifically – in order to show our gratitude for all they do. They got together with the brave patriots across the street and discussed several things I missed out on. I had to retreat to my deck and think about the ways we show that we have not forgotten how we got here, and what it means to have the things we have. Can we ever do enough? Can we?

4 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Do you never get tired of your constant sarcasm? I'm sarcastic, but I'd be tired if I were you.

9:50 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Come on Larissa, sarcasm is awesome. I never get tired of sarcasm.

1:10 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Tired of sarcasm? Perhaps I'm just not one for boring reads, then, but taken away sarcasm, I probably would've fallen asleep reading this entire post.

1:39 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

who are you people?

12:37 AM  

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