She looks good for her age

The United States is getting old. At 233, she’s made it through a lot. And though she’s aged gracefully, time’s definitely taken a toll. In fact, sometimes when you look back, she’s hard to recognize. Some like how she’s turned out. Others don’t.

But regardless of whether you feel she’s aged well or can’t believe she’s let herself go, you can’t help but celebrate her birthday on the Fourth of July in that patriotic, flag-flying, beer-drinking extravaganza that rejoices in everything red, white and blue.

From fireworks and backyard cookouts to lazy lake afternoons and hours traveling the highways, this giant birthday bash certainly lives up to its all-American reputation. Friends, family, food, fun and fireworks – what more could you want?

Dad’s at the grill. The kids all have sparklers. Mom’s screaming, “Be careful!” The family unity is palpable.

And if you’re not celebrating with family, you’re probably with your friends. Indeed, there’s little more that draws people together than a mutual love of our nation. Well, that and a well-stocked cooler.

And the food. Everyone loves the food. Especially the hot dogs.

We might be called the great “mixing pot,” but that doesn’t mean we have to scrape the meat from the bottom of the bowl, shove it into a thin casing, cook it, freeze it, heat it up and slap it on a bun. But then again, what’s more American than indulging on food that has no right to be eaten?

And the great thing about hot dogs – beyond their delicious taste – is that they’re so incredibly cheap. That’s especially important around the Fourth, because you’ll need every spare penny you can find for fireworks.

Many enjoy them for free, attending large community displays, reveling in the comfort of their lawn chairs, batting at mosquitoes while watching the burning metal oxides light up the sky.

But some just can’t sit by and let the professionals have all the fun. Lining their own explosives down the driveway, they light the fuses themselves, watching their own hard-earned money explode in the sky.

I’m all for these do-it-yourself displays. It’s the American way. But I must admit, something about drunken men with powerful explosives just doesn’t sit right with me. I guess I’d hate to see a perfectly fine mullet go up in smoke.

But that’s America – windswept, God-blessed, McDonald’s-fed and gasoline-fueled.
And I love her. For better or worse.

She gives me the freedom to say what I want in a college newspaper, to get upset about something that needs changing and to do something about it. And I can ask questions of her, freely, without fear, because she’s confident enough in the richness of her character to withstand it, and brave enough in her desire to welcome it.  

She might not have it all together. But who does? She’s beautiful in her old age and I’m glad I could make it to her birthday party.

Because, honestly, where else could I wear my cut-offs?