Too drab? Too preachy? Fine, Fine.
Some of you might know that the 4th of July is my birthday (fun fact: it’s one of the least common birthdays in the US. Not by coincidence, of course; it’s a fixed holiday, so C-sections just aren’t scheduled for that day.)
This has given me a somewhat complicated relationship to Independence Day. As a kid, it was not only one of the dreaded “summer birthdays” that no one could ride the bus home with you to celebrate, it was also a holiday that most of my friends’ families tended to have plans for. On top of that, my mom’s annual family reunion was always that weekend, and there’s nothing worse than celebrating your birthday with a random 75-year-old third cousin wandering up to your American flag cake, looking up at you, and saying, “Are you Amanda? It’s your birthday? Oh, well. Happy birthday. Pass me a plate.” And my god, the flag-themed gifts.
Because naturally, as a kid, the most complicated part of a birthday is who can celebrate with you, how and the gifts you receive.
Here’s a Fourth of July soundscape I made.
As I got older, I definitely learned to appreciate the charms. Fireworks? Street festivals? Street beers? A day off work?!
But that’s also when the strangeness started to creep in. I love America, full stop. That I think many parts of America could be better isn’t a wish drawn from hatred; it’s a hope that everyone can experience the same America. There are times when the disparities in our lived versions of America become clear even to the most privileged among us. Lately, that’s been happening more and more.
How do you celebrate an idea when you know that idea isn’t something everyone shares? Isn’t something everyone gets to experience? Isn’t real, and may never be?
I once wrote a post for Offbeat Home about throwing together a last-minute “‘Murica” party. It’s the tacky, exaggerated patriotism kind, the American flag swim trunks and eagle shotgunning a beer tank top. The loving the idea of America through an ironic lens kind, where we can detach ourselves from the problems if we just laugh together for a minute.
Now, to be fair, I picked up the habit of using British spellings in grade school (out of spite) when a teacher told me “grey” was spelled incorrectly. So maybe they thought I was Canadian or British or whatever. Or maybe it really was mildly offensive to call it ‘Murica (this itself is somewhat offensive, as a mockery of gruff, working-class accents that tend to be associated with some of the most tacky displays of patriotism). Or maybe the vibes were just off all around. But a few commenters were immediately “how very dare.”
While I understand the impulse to want to defend the ol’ USofA from people who spell it “favourite…” America really doesn’t need us jumping to defend its stupidest, tackiest, most ridiculous shows of patriotism, ironic or not. I assure you, ‘Murica will continue to do ‘Murica, whether we’re laughing or saluting.
I’d argue that Independence Day isn’t a day for solemnity. The earliest celebrations were marked with noise; gunshots, parades, speeches, prayer, toasts, music, fireworks and more. Even the most reverent military displays tend to be punctuated with brass bands and cheers. Now, we add baseball, cookouts, carnivals and bonfires to the mix.
If we’re truly worried about what the mythical Founding Fathers wanted, let’s hear from John Adams in a letter to the fabulous Miss Abigail:
The second day of July 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.
While some time talking to God certainly isn’t a raucous celebration, the rest of it sounds pretty rowdy!
I understand that irony isn’t helpful. It can be damaging. It can allow us to turn a blind eye for good. But irony can allow us to at least temporarily reclaim a little joy in our identities, to point out the flaws from a distance, to celebrate the fact that we’re all in this weird ship together.
And tomorrow, we go back to fighting for a better America.
Fun fact: Independence Day wasn’t made a holiday for federal employees until 1870 – and even then, it was unpaid until 1938.
Happy Star-Spangled Birthday Dootsie!