Why I Will Have a Hot Dog

I have started watching horror movies to avoid the nightly news.

Think about that for a minute.

If you listen long enough, you’ll become convinced America is one bad week away from complete collapse. Every headline reminds us how flawed this country is, how divided we’ve become, and everything we’ve ever done wrong.

America is a daily experiment. It has never been finished, never been perfect, and anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to sell you the Statue of Liberty.

Then something interesting happened.

Visitors attending the World Cup discovered an America they didn’t know existed. It wasn’t the one they’d heard about on the news. They’ve been genuinely surprised by the country and can’t understand what we’re all arguing about. They’ve been discovering America that many of us have stopped noticing.

Apparently, ranch dressing has developed a cult following. They’ve fallen in love with barbecue, biscuits, and apple pie. They’re fascinated by Walmart, where you can buy bananas, tires, laundry detergent, glasses, and get a manicure under one roof.

Mostly, they can’t understand why Americans seem so unhappy with America.

That’s the hardest thing to explain.

We are, at our best, an absurdly generous people.

We liberated the concentration camps. Then we rebuilt the economies of Germany and Japan because we decided it was the right thing to do.

Bessie Coleman wanted to fly, but no American flight school would admit her. She learned French, went to France, earned her pilot’s license, and came home to make history anyway.

George Washington Carver found hundreds of uses for the peanut. I remain personally grateful for peanut butter.

Jonas Salk developed the polio vaccine and refused to patent it. “Could you patent the sun?” he asked.

The Navajo Code Talkers created an unbreakable military code from their native language and helped win World War II. Their story wasn’t properly honored for decades, but thankfully, it finally was.

Living in Memphis, I can’t help but think about music. W.C. Handy, the blues, Elvis, soul music, and rock and roll. So much of what the world listens to today passed through this city on its way out the door.

We’re a nation of inventors, dreamers, builders, artists, entrepreneurs, and people stubborn enough to try things everyone else says can’t be done.

And yet…

I cannot wave our flag without saying this out loud.

I hate the Trail of Tears, slavery, Jim Crow, and the internment of Japanese Americans. Ancestry.com and 23andMe tell me I’m one percent Native American. I have no romantic notions about how that happened.

None.

But this Fourth of July, I choose to celebrate anyway.

That’s not denial.

That’s a decision.

The complete and total insanity of inflatable eagles and Uncle Sams on my drive home makes me smile. We are not a subtle people. Nothing says patriotism quite like decorating your front yard with plastic and hot air.

Our neighborhood picnic starts at 6:30.

I’ll eat half a hamburger and a hot dog without the bun. I’ll take my dairy-relief pill before having ice cream because I am not an amateur.

I’ll stand for the Pledge of Allegiance.

I’ll sing the National Anthem off-key.

I’ll sing “God Bless America,” and mean every word.

Then I’ll watch the fireworks with my neighbors before coming home to watch them again on television because this is America, and apparently, one fireworks show is never enough.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve become better at arguing than loving our country with all its flaws.

I want to think we’re better than that.

Most of us live somewhere in the middle, exhausted by the shouting.

Just for one day, I’d love for us to remember how fortunate we are. Around the world, people still risk everything for the freedoms we sometimes take for granted. More people are trying to come here than leave here. There must be a reason.

I choose, on this Fourth of July, to have a hot dog.

Not because America has always gotten everything right.

Because I still believe this country is worth celebrating while we keep trying to make it better.

A wise friend reminded me this week that hope is part of patriotism.

I hope we continue telling the stories that were forgotten.

I hope we learn from our history instead of repeating it.

I hope we become as generous with one another as the World Cup visitors found us to be.

And I pray God continues to heal this land, so it remains a beacon of freedom for generations to come.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time for another dairy-relief pill and one more scoop of ice cream.

On this, the 250th anniversary of this great experiment, may you take a moment to reflect on our history, the bad and the good.