I love my country. Really – I mean that in a totally non-sarcastic, non-ironic way.
I was walking thru the halls, on my way back from lunch, and looking at all the people I was just filled with this strange amorphous…love…for a great many things about this wacky country – where I was born, where I grew up, where I live. (and will probably always live)
I love the fighting strains of puritanism and hedonism, atheism and religiosity, pompousness and silliness. I love the fact that America is, in essence, an idea – as much as it is geography. And that we gave this idea: a multicultural democratic capitalistic mishmash – to the rest of the world. We are proud, young, energetic, and argumentative. Nothing is sacred, and everything is sacred. Something can be a meaningful tradition, and rebelled against, all in the course of a century. (See “pledge of allegiance, the”) I love the story of our flag, even the silly Betsy Ross part. I love the fact that we actually did manage to free the slaves, give women the vote, ensure universal education – all sort despite ourselves. I love the frontier spirit – and I love that, sometimes, the people who got displaced for it can fight back with our own laws. I love the Constitution. I think the United States of America is a wonderful place, and I feel incredibly lucky to be an American.
(all this of course, with the constant caveat that this country is nowhere near perfect, and that I can think of a half-dozen things off the top of my head that drive me crazy.)