I grew up in the small town of Dollar Bay, Michigan - population just over 1,000. My graduating high school class - the class of 1993 - consisted of 11 students, seven girls and four boys. I grew up proud of this little place. My childhood diary is full of entries expressing my worry that our school would be shuttered and we’d be bussed to one of the neighboring, larger towns. By far, this was my greatest fear as a kid.
One of my favorite things about Dollar Bay is its annual Fourth of July celebration. The larger towns of Houghton and Hancock do not have Fourth of July festivities, allowing smaller towns like Dollar Bay to shine. Families from those population centers flood the streets of Dollar Bay to watch the parade, play games at the park and stand in a long line at the baseball field for the “famous” chicken bbq. As a kid, I would decorate my bicycle with red, white and blue crepe paper and my mom would help me come up with a costume to wear so I could participate in the parade through town and get rewarded with a few dollars from the parade committee. One year I was Yankee Doodle Dandy and another year I was a red firecracker. As you might be able to imagine, riding a bicycle in a firecracker costume made of poster board is not easy. As I grew older, I eventually donned the heavy 70’s era polyester uniform of the high school marching band and did my best to keep in step with my bandmates while playing my trumpet and sweating my butt off.
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| I'm a firecracker - circa 1984? |
Not long after high school graduation, my parents built a new home on Lake Superior and moved out of the bay, some 20 miles away. Although in college at the time, I felt emotional about leaving my little town and saying goodbye to the house I grew up in. I went so far as to make a time capsule consisting of a CD jewel case filled with a few personal items, including an old ATM card, and hid it in the rafters of the basement. It may damn well still be up there. Every year, through college and beyond, I’d try to make it home to Dollar Bay for the Fourth of July celebration. It’s a tradition I love and eventually shared with my own children. To say I feel sentimental about my small town upbringing is putting it mildly.
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| The Dollar Bay Fourth of July parade 2011. No more polyester band uniforms. |
In recent years, there’s been a shift in these sentiments regarding my old hometown and the Fourth of July. It’s been more than twenty years since I’ve lived in Dollar Bay and so much has changed. The last time I was home for the Fourth, I walked the streets with my family, took in the parade and enjoyed watching my young sons scramble to gather candy thrown from the floats that slowly passed us by. While walking around town, I struggled to recognize old friends and classmates. Although I spoke to a few people I knew, most of the people in town were strangers to me. It was even difficult to recognize the people I did know, as we’re all looking a bit older and heavier these days. I was hit with a feeling of sadness as I came to realize that I’m now, more or less, a stranger in this place that was once my home. I’ve lived outside of Dollar Bay for more years than I ever spent living there. It seems it is time to let it go and start my own traditions with my kids and husband here in Minneapolis.
But, how exactly does one celebrate the Fourth of July in 2018? The Fourth of July, the birthday of our nation, is obviously the most patriotic of holidays. Just walk through Target a week before the Fourth and try to find something that’s not for sale in red, white and blue.
This year, patriotism feels dead to me. Much like I came to realize I no longer recognize my hometown, I’m beginning to realize I don’t recognize my own country. As an adult I’ve always felt fairly skeptical of blind patriotism, aware of the shameful history of our country - slavery, the Trail of Tears, the internment of Japanese Americans during WWII, and the civil rights movement. As a white, middle class woman, I’ve had the privilege to see the shame of our country through the lens of history, to convince myself the shame is all in the past. I’m sorry to say it’s taken the policies of the Trump administration to shatter these rose colored glasses and make me see the shameful inequities in present day America, the ones that have always existed in my lifetime, but did not necessarily have a direct impact on me personally.
I was born in 1974, a year after Roe vs. Wade made abortion legal and two years after the passage of Title IX. As a kid I was told I could grow up to be and do whatever I wanted. More recently, I saw the election of the first black president and the legalization of gay marriage. The fact that I grew up taking so many of my rights for granted is the definition of privilege. I’m not proud of the fact that it has taken the election of Donald Trump to open my eyes to all of this. November 8, 2016 was a shock to the system. Suddenly witnessing the very values of this country that I hold dearest come under attack in the most ignorant and vicious manner was disturbing to say the least. But while I grapple with the worry that I may have to explain to my 7-year-old son what a porn star is, others have been dealing with true threats to their safety and the well-being of their families due to the racist, xenophobic and the often deranged policies of our current administration.
This past week has brought several blows to those who hold progressive and liberal values, including a Supreme Court decision that upholds Trump’s travel ban, another that weakens labor unions, and yet another that allows abortion opponents to willfully mislead women. News of Justice Kennedy’s retirement and the reality of Trump appointing another ultra conservative justice to the bench has been overwhelming as we look to a future that looks more and more grim, even dystopian. To top off the week, there was a mass shooting at a newspaper in Maryland. With a president who continues to perpetuate an image of dishonest journalism and "fake news," I fear things will only get worse for the fourth estate.
Following this most harrowing of weeks, many of my friends and loved ones have expressed interest in getting the hell out of America for good. In the past, this was often referred to lightly, as more of a joke than a serious consideration. This no longer seems to be the case as many hold serious fears of the future under Trump. Like me, these friends admit that they’re privileged to even be able to consider moving to another country.
So how am I going to celebrate the Fourth of July this year? Although I joke about moving to Canada and taking advantage of their free health care and good-looking, intelligent prime minister, I plan on staying here and fighting for the America I grew-up in and believe in. I might find it more difficult to recognize this America these days, but I’m not ready to give-up on her. I plan on fighting for my values and the belief that ALL people have the right to pursue life, liberty and that ever elusive happiness - no matter their race, religion, national origin, sex, sexual orientation, age, disability, or preference for cats or dogs. How am I going to fight? I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t quite figured that out, yet. But, I am hopeful enough to feel that expressing myself in this essay is one step in the right direction and I am open to all suggestions.
