it was the very first time i ever felt like an american.
it was 1989. it was the Vietnam Memorial. it was the 50,000 plus names. it was the old couple fingering letters engraved in the black granite wall… their tenderness took my breath away. it was the grown man, brought to his knees, sobbing with his face buried in the shoulder of his little boy, who was patting him on the back. it was this moment, this experience that transcended my family, my friends, my neighborhood.
it was the day i started to become an american. my transformation became complete upon reading “The Indispensable Man” by James Flexner. it was about George Washington. all i can say is read it.
i’m not really a chauvinist. but i am a pack member. i am one of a group of people who, for a brief shining moment, gave the world a belief in freedom. individual rights. justice. and i love america for these things. i will always love america for these things.
america. its genius is in distribution of power. and forcing us to debate our constitution. it was never meant to be a static document. but a dynamic force. forever a stepping stone. there is nothing constructionist about it. and there never was.
as america contracts after more than 30 years of political liars, murderers, and elitists, i am leaving. moving across an ocean to another continent.
and i’m feeling a little bit like a traitor. leaving when i should be staying. leaving when i should be working to over throw the two party system. leaving when lunatics run the asylum.
i met srkpy for breakfast today. i always love the way she thinks. free. unencumbered. she says things i’ve yet to think about about. i soak up her ideas, we walked north together, parting at 42nd and 8th. we promised to meet again in The Netherlands. the sun was out and the street carnival that is manhattan was in full force. so i crossed the street and went on alone.
i love manhattan. walking though crowds. being overwhelmed by the face of the homeless. one man sitting on the sidewalk with his stump exposed. an old man with quivering eyes. a sleeping man with swollen legs.
people in expensive suits. tourists. and people like me. jeans and t-shirt dragging a suitcase on wheels. there was an old voodoo woman following me. her dreds caught up in a tie-dyed scarf, her voice mumbling as she shuffled tarot cards. i wanted to stop and talk to her. i didn’t dare stop and talk to her.
i’m leaving this. my country. i’ve seen days of purple mountains and a sky that is endless. we take it for granted. that high ceiling. but there are places with low gray cloud cover. and no mountains. no purple haze.
i realize i love the idea of america. i realize i love my idea of america.
but every time i say goodbye to someone i love. every time i think of not being here on election day (Nov. 4, 2008), i get choked up.