So this is the beginning.
This weekend we celebrate Independence Day. Isn't it crazy? There was once was a time in our country's history when we had to officially compose a document, signed and dated, that proclaimed, we are no longer dependent. We're leaving home. We've come of age. We have hair under our arms and a driver's lisence. We're smart, we've graduated, so don't tell us what to do.
Many of you may be disenfranchised with the current socio-political lanscape here in the U.S.A., but hey, at least we didn't go back and live with our parents. At least we're not celebrating Dependence Day.
A lot of songs have been written about it. Martina McBride sings about an abused girl that can't take it anymore, so she burns her house down with her father in it. Ani DiFranco sings about sitting on a parking ramp with a lover watching the fireworks, then having to pretend that wonderful feeling of independence when things don't work out. Aimee Mann laments the memory that accompanies the holiday. Amid the backdrop of celebration she is caught up in a whirl of what-might-have-been. Elliott Smith talks about the life of the butterfly. As idealic and short lived as it is, wasn't it beautiful? Wasn't it worth everything?
So, the Fourth of July is in one sense a straightforward celebration of our break with the motherland. But isn't it also a day for reassessment? A day of affirmation? This week I celebrate my Independence. I don't need fireworks, roman candles, or cherry bombs. I am me; no one else is like me!