Time for my annual July 4th assessment.
In a word—unsettled. Bland, I know, but there are lots of dishes spinning, currently. We as a nation are careening toward an election that has consequential written all over it—at least that’s what we keep hearing from a variety of pundits and people supposedly in the know. We’ve heard it so often that it might be starting to sound more than slightly cliché, losing its capacity to move people.
I don’t know what to think anymore, except that I don’t want Donald Trump to be President, because his vision for America is no vision at all. He’s an empty-souled, blood-sucking leech who’s hijacked nine years of our collective national life and poisoned the water, enticing millions of disciples with divisive rhetoric and promises he has no intention of keeping.
So, half the country is being misled, and the other half is wondering if the center will hold. The ideals haven’t gone anywhere. It’s just that we need to face this current assault before moving on.
It’s difficult, I guess, to think of America as anything less than a beacon of light. I hate the word “exceptional,” because that sounds like hubris and boasting and a symptom of neediness. But our forebears built us a firm foundation, perhaps based on an assumption that future generations would engage the struggle to understand it. To hold onto it, maintain it, build on it, and appreciate it.
I hate to think that we who are alive today will be the ones to witness the squandering, the crumbling, and the unwillingness to engage the task of forming that more perfect union.
(sorry… I’m suddenly unable to change the font size.)
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