SpaghettiBurrito.com big ideas for small times: Patriotic rant for the Fourth of July

Patriotic rant for the Fourth of July

So the other day I was having a *conversation* with someone who asked me what I was passionate about.

'I don't know' I said. 'Everything. And nothing. I guess.'

Then it got me thinking. About true passion. Not the primal 'let's roll around on the floor and pretend we're animals' kind, but the 'would really and truly not making it up jump in front of a moving bullet to protect it' kind.

'Can I change my answer?'

'Sure.'

'My mother, my son and the President.'

'Barack Obama?'

'Sure, now. And who came before him and whoever comes next. The Institution of the President of the United States.'

'You're kidding.'

'I'm totally not.'

And I wasn't. As basically apolitical as I am (I pretty much believe that all who enter office may not necessarily arrive drooling idiots, but they all certainly leave that way) I can't help but feel fiercely protective of the talking head of my nation. It's like a living, breathing incarnation of the American Flag and all that it stands for.

It all boils down to personal freedom, which is the stuff I eat for breakfast, lunch, dinner and midnight snack. When a couple sets of my eleventh great grandparents boarded the Mayflower and set sail for, well, here it was so that they could be left the fuck alone to live their lives as they saw fit. And that their neighbors could do the same. They weren't looking for an orgy of anarchy or anything, they just wanted to carve out their own space and make their own rules to live by. Word.

Fast forward a hundred and fifty five years to my fifth great grandfather who, at the age of forty-seven, took up arms and marched from Marlborough to Cambridge Massachusetts the day the Revolutionary War started. Which is about 35 miles, give or take. Which must have really sucked on a cold and probably wet New England morning. Whatever was going through his mind that day I'll never know. But I'm sure whatever thoughts he had were ones filled with hope, with dreams, with passion. Not just for the pregnant wife and eight children he was marching away from, but for the new world he was marching into. A world he would leave for the generations to come.

And now here I sit in mine. I've never set sail for a new world, founded a nation or fought in a war. But I'm the living legacy of those who did and feel a definite sense of personal responsibility not to piss on the accomplishments of those who came before me. Now don't get me wrong, this nation of freedom lovers has more than a few dark stains on it's personal history. Slavery, oppression of women, denial of civil rights and the current shame of debating whether or not gay people and immigrants deserve the same human rights as, well, all of the other humans are the big ones that come to mind. A few fewer fucktards in office usually rights these wrongs. So come on real Americans, register and actually make it to the polls to vote this and every November for fuck's sake.

So there you have it. I'm a not-so-closeted patriot. And whether you're a half-wit inbred teabagger or a far left leaning lunatic the next time you feel the need to infringe on the personal freedoms of your neighbor next door or on the opposite shore use your own personal freedom to take the next plane, train or automobile across the border . If they'll even have you. Oh, and don't let the door hit you on the way out.