Whisps of cotton are in the air. As I sit on the Writing Porch, they blow languidly by. The blue sky is full of fluffy cotton clouds. Nature is resting. The explosions will soon start. Spirits will be high, and some will be filled with spirits. The 4th of July is a rite of passage in the United States. We live in a great country and tell ourselves often how great it is. Lee Greenwood sings, ‘I Am Proud To Be An American.’ The next line of the tune states, ‘At least I know I’m Free.’ Many of us sing those words without a thought that we are not all free. Poverty is a jail cell. Being different is a prison in a government that recognizes only itself. Diversity was once applauded, but is now hidden in the shadows. Americans are good-hearted people who do not want those less fortunate than they are to suffer or have food insecurity. Americans want every child to be well fed.

All Americans have shared the idea of a social safety net. All of us have mothers and fathers who have had to use the services of nursing homes and home healthcare. Our brothers and sisters, friends, and neighbors are good Americans, and many voted for the current President. Many are poor and work hard, fly our flag with American Pride. All races have fought and died for Our United States of America. Immigrants lie beneath the white grave markers of our military cemeteries.

Soldiers of all faiths and no recognized faith gave their lives freely for America. They believed in the concept that all men are created equal. They gave their ultimate sacrifice for the promise of America. In the foxhole, there was neither black nor white but only Americans.

‘When I see the colorful display of fireworks, I think of those who gave their lives for our freedom,’ Chet said. ‘Dad fought in World War II and Earl in the Korean War,’ Chet noted. ‘Neva J worked in the Armament Factory making shells,’ Chet continued. ‘Dad’s best friend was Homer Gibbons, a black man from Alabama,’ Chet noted. ‘Dad and Homer called each other brothers,’ Chet said quietly. ‘They got together each July 4th, raise the Flag and conduct a small ceremony,’ Chet said. ‘On alternate years Homer and his family celebrated Christmas with us in Illinois, and the next year we celebrated with them in Alabama,’ Chet mused with tears in his eyes.

‘I was reflecting on our time together in the field hospital in England,’ Sherrie said to Maude. ‘There was so much dying and amputations that I fled the operating theatre and you came to comfort me,’ Sherrie said. ‘The men loved us and treated us better than family,’ Sherrie reflected. ‘We held their hands and listened to them when there was no one else to hear,’ Sherrie said in a whisper. ‘We all were united as one because we were fighting for America and the right of our struggle,’ Sherrie offered.

‘Remember when we had Christmas for the men in the amputation wing,’ Maude said. ‘Those that could not feed themselves we fed and we created a choir for Christmas songs that sounded better than anything I have heard on Bing Crosby’s Christmas Specials,’ Maude laughed. ‘I told some of the men that we hoped to have a child when we returned to the states, and several offered to be a sperm donor with tears in their eyes,’ Maude reflected. ‘They loved us for who we were and we loved them like our fathers and brothers and would have died for them,’ Maude reflected.

So there you have it, Proud Americans are a Rainbow of colors and birthplaces. We are Gay and Straight, we are black and white, we are Jew and Gentile. The re-writers of history have come too late to change who we are as we salute our wonderful Flag.