I’m a writer. Not just by trade, but also by habit. I tell people it’s my way of getting out of having to pay for therapy. It’s more than that, though. Rarely does a day go by when I don’t at least jot down a note in my journal: to-do lists, funny rhymes, bad puns, my thoughts, what’s bothering me, etc. I write about everything that happens to me. Except one thing: a distinct change in my life.
Last year I did not write anything on Sept. 11. I did not write anything about 9-11. My own personal moratorium in the face of a tragedy. It was too soon to be writing angst-y rants about whose fault it was. There were not enough facts. It was too soon to be writing a commemoration for the dead. I mourned quietly. It was too soon, too spoon-fed on TV, night and day. By Christmas, it felt like the whole thing was turning into another O.J., Monica or little girl trapped in the well.
Some people complained that there needed to be more flags, more pride. Some people thought there were too many flags already, too many knee-jerk reactions. Some people wanted to blame the government; others wanted to nuke all of the Mideast. And all the while non-stop footage. First of the planes, then of the rescue effort. Then the Army! Then explosions! Then … uh … more explosions.
Then it started to feel like the same media dream that is always broadcast on television. But something was changed. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. So, there are long lines and searches at the airport, which is now staffed by federal employees. I can live with that; flying is a huge pain anyway. There are more flags flying. I put one on my car. Really, though, my day-to-day existence hasn’t changed essentially. I still go to work for a paycheck. I pay my bills every month. I hang out with my friends.
It dawned on me a few weeks ago what had changed. Now, I’ve always been opinionated and loud. I like talking politics at bars. I don’t know how many times I have raged against “The Man” and “The State” and the “Evil American Empire.” I’ve thought about moving to anywhere else. I have spoken out against my leaders and my government. I have even suggested that we change who is in power, making the decisions I disagree with.
Wow. I’d have been shot or imprisoned years ago, anywhere else.
But I’m an American. I was born here, I was raised here, and I’ve lived all over the continent. I am a product of the distinctly different American culture. I’m not Irish or German or African or Chinese. I am an American. We’ve got a really nice place here. Sure, there’s smog and crime and corruption, but welcome to the human race. At least here, most of us have running water. Even homeless people in America are envied by people who want to move here.
I simply realized what changed. I am proud to be an American. I wouldn’t live anywhere else. America made my friends and me into the people we are today.
I’m not saying I won’t disagree with the next tax cut or the new foreign policy or who is in charge. I hope I do. I get to. It’s my duty, as an American. Keep the flag flying and remember the idea behind it all.
Rory Dowd, 28, is a poet, student and RN&R contributor who lives in Reno.