"A Happy 'Fourth" To Ya"

From a “citizenship” standpoint, I feel like the kid from the blended family who gets to enjoy two Christmases (or two Chanukahs, or two birthdays, or two Thanksgiving dinners and that’s why I’m fat.) 

Born Canadian. 

Naturalized American. 

And I sincerely appreciate both of my parents.  (The difference with divorce in this example is that, in this case, it was the child who walked out.)

Canada grounded me in an  empathetic humanitarianism that I have never outgrown.  America gave me my career.  Canada allowed me to grow up in a safe and sensible environment, but with the chance that my natural potential might never be actualized.  America retains its “Anyone-can-make-it” mythology, but with the possibility that, as occurred just recently, seven people might be gunned down in my own neighborhood.

You take the good with the boring.  The exciting with the randomly slain.

Or, if you’re lucky, you get to experience both.  And so, as when three days ago on July the First, I honored my Canadian “Home and native land” – albeit in a footnote rather than a separate post – appropriate for a country that’s uncomfortable blowing its own horn – today, I tip my eternally hat to the country that allowed me to accomplish so much.  I arrived with a dream, and got a chance to fulfill it.

Happy Birthday, America!  Way to kick Merrie Olde England’s butt!

Now, if you’ll just lift your foot off the “living in fear of impending tyranny” pedal – King George is not coming back – we can stop worrying, and role-up-our-sleevesedly set our sights on our Declaration of Independence-directed Pursuit of Happiness. 

How o-old are you?

How o-old are you?

How o-old are you-oo?

How o-old are you?

One…two (it's the best I can do)…three…

And continue counting to two hundred and thirty-seven.