[taraleigh]

Kayaking is the only thing that my friend Kelly wants to do during the summer. Last year she almost died on the river when her head smashed into a rock. After she was released from the hospital, the first thing she said to me was that she was frustrated about not being able to get back on the water again that season. She is passionate about kayaking.

Dave talks about football so much that he could even bore Howie Long. Dave knows every statistic, every score, from before he was even born. And that’s for the teams he doesn’t even like. His three VCRs record the games he misses while watching his “priority game.” He is passionate about football.

My friend Jackson and I can talk about guns for hours. After we finish talking about them, we go out to the firing range and shoot them. Anyone who knows either of us knows that we are passionate about guns. But truth be told, my love for guns has less to do with the guns themselves (although they are amazing) and more to do with my love for America. At the heart of it, I am passionate about America.

To illustrate my point, I will let you read an excerpt from my personal journal, written on 09.11.03:

I pulled myself up onto the chair so that I could stand on it, then I stepped up onto the top of the desk. My little hands opened up the cabinets in our den and took out a piece of wide-ruled notebook paper and a pencil. And I sat down to write. At the time, my older brothers and sisters were scattered from fifth to twelfth grade, and I had watched them do hours of homework and write papers. So I decided to write my own little essay, for no real reason at all. My essay was called “Why I Love America”.

I was four.

I do love America. I have always loved America. I have been this way for as long as I have known who I am… from as far back as I can even remember existing.

When I was about ten years old, my sister and I watched “Rocky IV”, where Rocky is pitted against the Russian fighter, Ivan Drago. My heart was so happy when they wrapped Rocky in the big American flag. I don’t remember anything else about the movie, but that scene is burned onto my brain.

A few years later, when Operation Desert Storm began, I begged my mom to drive me down to the courthouse to stand with people at a rally in support of the troops. I got up early that Saturday to stencil a poster-board with the words “Support Our Troops” and “We Love Our Troops” on it. There was no one else there even close to my age, except my friend Jessica, whom I had dragged along with me. We even got our picture in the local newspaper… I guess they thought it was cute that two kids came out to the courthouse steps that day with signs and flags.

In high school, I wrote for the school newspaper. One of my editorials begged the students to stand and be respectful when the Star-Spangled Banner was played at sporting events. I caught the backlash. That’s okay. The First Amendment guarantees us all the right to voice our opinions, including those people whose opinions differ from mine.

I actually enjoy it when my oldest brother reads the Declaration of Independence aloud to our family on Independence Day (one of my favorite holidays). And I refuse to call it “Fourth of July”, because that’s like referring to Christmas as “Twenty-fifth of December”… the meaning gets lost in translation.

This year, when I went to New York City for the first time, I cried when my friend told me that we were about to see the Statue of Liberty. I could not stop myself. We sat there on the train, my blurry eyes fixed on the window, waiting for the Lady. I tried to explain it to my friend… tried to tell her about my family and how we are passionate about freedom… but she already knew. She knew, because she really does know me… and she knows that America is as much a part of who I am as music and mountains.

I can’t grasp this love for my country. I don’t know why I list “voting” as one of my hobbies. I don’t know why I wanted so desperately to see my President when he was in town two days ago. But I know it all started years ago, before I was old enough to know anything about politics or democrats or Saddam Hussein.

And today, just four hours into this anniversary, I have already cried twice while watching the news. Very few things can bring me to tears, but America will do it every time.

Yes, it’s imperfect. I know that. I don’t gloss over 200 years of racism, segregation, and feigned superiority. I am well aware that we kill more babies every year than any other country. I know that we have rampant economic problems and corruption in our leadership. And I don’t believe half of what I read in the news. I get angry with the media, too, and angry at the judicial system, and I get downright mad at Congress... but this country is built in such a way that you can improve it, if you try. That’s why it is the greatest experiment in self-government that has ever been created.

And I will fight to the death that the Dixie Chicks and Susan Sarandon and Alec Baldwin all have the right to hate it. Lots of other countries don’t afford their citizens the right to voice their opinions. I am grateful that mine does. But if you hate it, you can change it. No excuses. Stop complaining, and get to work.

Today is September 11. Today is Patriot’s Day. And though it may seem strange, today I will celebrate. Ground Zero may feel like shrapnel, but that field in Pennsylvania shines like a Purple Heart. I know. I’ve been to all three memorials, and it is distinctly different than the others. It’s where a victory was won at great expense. So I celebrate the patriot martyrs, especially the passengers of Flight 93… those brave souls who chose to stand up against the cowards who hate our freedom, and to save others in the process. I celebrate their lives, their courage, their sacrifice. I celebrate my freedom. And I celebrate yours.

TO BE CONTINUED…

[management]

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