Road Trips, Republics, and Texas Roadhouse Rolls: Let Freedom Ring

 

The average distance to the moon is 238,855, and throughout all the missions to the moon and beyond, I'm sure not one astronaut ever asked, "Are we there yet?"

In my lifetime, we've made it to the moon, experienced life-changing inventions like the microwave, VCR, cell phones, and Texas Roadhouse Rolls...(more about that one later). But with all these advancements and American ingenuity, can anyone honestly say they have mastered the ability to take a blissful and problem-free road trip?...

With the innovation of the automobile and our nation's elaborate road system, the family vacation was born, always with the intent of extending family bonding time, while enhancing the cultural literacy and heritage of the children. 

Fifty years ago, I was thirteen years old, and it was the Bicentennial Year--the 200th celebration of our Nation's Independence. To commemorate this special occasion, my parents planned an epic road trip, with our destination being Washington, D.C.

To say the Browns were the poster family for bad vacations would be an untruth. That honor still belongs to the Griswalds, with my family coming in a close second. I will, however, stop to brag for a moment by stating that our Ford Gran Torino station wagon could have been the inspiration for the Griswald's "Family Truckster." It was avocado green, with wood paneling on the sides. One of the coolest features, at least we thought so at the time, was the third-row seat, which faced backwards. What a way to see the USA, putting nausea and motion-sickness aside.

This third-row seat could also be folded down flat, a place for suitcases or for someone to stretch out and relax while watching the countryside flash by. To make more room, and to keep my brother and I separated, the luggage was strapped to the rack on top of the station wagon, Fortunately, we didn't have an "Aunt Edna," so that took care of the worry and inconvenience of transporting a lifeless body on top of the vehicle.

In July of 1976, we departed Nacogdoches, Texas and began our journey across the South, stopping at all the major Civil War Battlefields. At each stop, my older brother Greg and I would reluctantly get out of the car, dragging our feet with that special teenage angst that is the bane and nightmare of every parent who tries to navigate the awkward adolescent years of blemishes, hormones, and being the source of embarrassment of their offspring.

             Gettysburg, and a rare picture with my dad, since he was the photographer-in-chief)

My mother was the walking embodiment of American spirit. She was a font of historical knowledge and a legendary government teacher. At every stop we made, she would pour out information, and small crowds would gather to listen. She and my father hurled information at us from all directions, trying to ensure we were literate, as well as proud Americans. My mom did most of the narration, while my dad snapped photos. 

      (No telling what piece of legislation Greg just signed while in Congressman Wilson's office)

I would like to say my goal for this trip was to gain knowledge, expand my horizons, and relish time with my family, but that was not the case. My aim for this trip was to finally snatch my life-long crush, Kyle Simpson. He was five years older than than me, and ever since I was four, I thought he was dreamy--the Bobby Sherman and Donny Osmond level of dreamy. We were going to be staying with his family in Virginia. His dad was the Chief Aid of Congressman Charlie Wilson, and long-time friends of the family. I had just gotten my braces off and had a new-found confidence. To my dismay, at our arrival, I discovered his girlfriend, Tammy. My plan was foiled, and I was left with the realization that this trip would be educational, and nothing more. And I thought I could have been a contender!  To add insult to injury, the sickeningly sweet couple went to see Fleetwood Mac in concert while we were there. They saw Stevie Nicks, and I had to go my own way.

Throughout our two-week trip, we visited all the sites of D.C., traveled to Philadelphia, and were there along with an outbreak of the highly contagious Legionnaires Disease. We drove to New York City and had tickets to "A Chorus Line." We went to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. As we traveled the highways and byways of this great land, we passed by Shoney's Restaurants, historical markers, and Amish buggies. It was a presidential election year, and my dad, while attending a democratic fund-raiser with the Simpsons, left the dinner table to go to the restroom, and on the way, in the hallway, shook hands with democratic nominee Jimmy Carter.

Twenty-eight years later, Brian and I took our boys and our niece Meagan, along with my mother, back to DC and Boston. It was also a presidential year, and this time around, the kids were sporting their Bush/Cheney '04 t-shirts. Times change, ideologies change, but one thing remains the same--the love we have for our country. All those years later, we met up with the Simpsons (and told our kids not to wear their Bush shirts in front of them). We even went by Kyle Simpson's office, where he was a highly successful lobbyist. I had to rub it in that I had snagged Brian, and he had been replaced. 

Meagan, Christopher, and Charles in front of the Supreme Court--USA, USA USA!!!)

I'm eternally grateful that my parents instilled in me the importance of loving our country. They also taught me that we aren't perfect as a nation; there is always room to grow. However, we should never take our freedom lightly. We must participate, vote, voice our opinions, spar with opponents while still respecting their viewpoints. Our nation is different. It's special. The Constitution was written by thirty-something year old men who amazingly created a document for the ages. Things change, we grow as a nation, and with their forethought, we have the ability to amend the constitution. 

On the last day of the convention, after all the delegates had signed the constitution, a lady asked Benjamin Franklin, "Well, Doctor, what have we got, a republic or a monarchy?" Franklin responded, "A republic, if you can keep it."

For Mother's Day one year, I gave my mom a book from Hallmark written in 1972 entitled, The American Spirit, by Dean Walley. I found the book while going through Mother's things, and the words still ring true today.

“I am an American. I have come from the four corners of the earth, in flight from the old, and the ruined, and the oppressive. I have come to the Golden Door in search of Freedom.

I have been poor, and tired, and homeless, but I have found a wealth of the spirit, a strength of will, a home at last in this new world of tall mountains, and virgin timber, and broad prairies.

I am an American. I am many different things, but in these differences, there is a sameness in belief. For I believe in myself, in the destiny of this land.

I believe, ‘that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’

I am an American. I have crossed the prairies and the mountains in a covered wagon, living mostly on hope, charting the unknown, sleeping under the stars.

I have followed the sun in search of gold and found a greater prize in the new lands and the brave hearts of my fellows.

I have lived in a house divided by war, and in honoring my fallen brothers, I have spoken from the heart; from the heart of America, with high resolve ‘that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from the earth.’

I am an American. I speak in diverse accents. My skin has many hues.

I worship in churches, cathedrals, synagogues, temples, rude tents, and wild forests.

I am as old as Man’s love of Freedom; I am as young as tomorrow.

I have given my life so many times for my country: at Valley Forge, Appomattox, Belleau Wood, Iwo Jima, Da Nang.

But there is in me a thing that knows no death, and my spirit is living still in the land of the free and the home of the brave.

I am an American. I have sold men into slavery, and I have been a slave. I have lived in greater luxury than any man before me.

I have planted trees, and I have laid waste to the land I love.

There are moments in my past I view with great pride, and there are scenes that cry out in my memory. But only in realizing the good and the bad that has gone before can I become the American I must be in the days ahead.

I am an American, and I have a dream, a dream of a time when we ‘will be able to join hands and sing, Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!’

I am an American, and I want to work and live and dare to make my country all that it can be, for ‘some men see things as they are and say why? I dream of things that never were and say, why not?’

I am an American, and I say, ‘Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country.’

I am an American. I feel great pride and at the same time I am humble enough to walk for the first time on the moon and count that achievement as ‘one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.’

I am an American. This land of mine is the greatest poem. It is a poem of life and work, love and sacrifice, sorrow and job. I move freely through the vastness, and all about me I see ‘magnificent masses, careless of particulars; the roughs, beards, friendliness, combativeness, the soul loves. The flowing trains, the crowds, equality, diversity, the soul loves.’

I am the farmer at his plow, the mother with her child. I am the merchant in his shop. I am the statesman, the soldier, the minister, the child, the poet, the philosopher, the builder, the lover.

I am three hundred and forty-six million people.

I am one spirit.

I am an American!

*the number of Americans at the time of publishing in 1972 was two hundred million*

I love my country. I stand for the flag; I sing off-key to “The Star-Spangled Banner.” I believe that we live in the greatest country in the world. I embrace my freedoms, but also know our country has flaws. But rather than bash the things I dislike, I vote. I voice my opinion but also don’t try to thrust my views on others. We are all free to make our own choices.

Here's what I do know. My freedom doesn’t come from my country. It comes from God. “The Lord is the spirit, and where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” (2 Corinthians 3:17).

I am thankful for all the blessings I have received, and thankful that I am able to live each day in “the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

I pray for our country, for our leaders, for peaceful dialogue. I believe that if you are in this country, you should love it. Yes, we have problems. Yes, we need many changes. But hating our country and calling yourself an American seem to be two things that don’t go together, kind of like beans in chili.

I recently came across something written by a popular political pundit. I am not stating his name because anyone who dislikes him or his party affiliation will automatically discount what he wrote.

“Somewhere along the way, we started treating patriotism like a membership card for one political tribe instead of something every America gets to hold. History turned controversial. The flag became controversial. Even the birthday turned controversial. That should bother all of us, regardless of who we voted for a couple of Novembers ago. A country that stops celebrating itself eventually stops wanting to protect itself.

History is a family photo album. Stop opening it and eventually your kids don’t know who the people in the pictures are. Once they don’t know who they came from, they stop knowing who they are.

Don’t let somebody else tell you what the country is. Go see her yourself. Because if the people who actually love this place stop showing up for its history, somebody else will write that history instead, and you won’t like the draft.

America is an inheritance. It’s a promise made two hundred and fifty years ago that each generation has to decide, on its own, whether it’s still worth keeping.

Learn it. Celebrate it. Protect it. Because whatever you inherit without gratitude, you don’t usually keep for long.”

 

Watching the pride and spirit that has come along with the World Cup has given me renewed hope that we will realize how great we have it here. I’ve seen our nation through new eyes. I’ve become even prouder to be an American, and more aware of the simple, everyday things we take for granted.

I saw a post by a guy from Australia who was amazed by Texas Roadhouse. He couldn’t believe that they brought free bread to the table, and when the basket of bread was empty, they would bring more. The same with free refills of drinks. He went on and on about all the wonderful things about the restaurant. I loved his ending the most. This is what he said:

“I don’t even know why you Americans are angry all the time. You’ve got Texas Roadhouse in your country!”

I agree! Get happy about the things we have here. Celebrate the freedoms men and women have fought and died for. Talk to your neighbors. Shoot off some fireworks. Eat some potato salad, just make sure it hasn’t been in the heat too long.

Sing loudly, even if you’re off-key. Wave your flag, hug your children, dress in red, white, and blue. Go to church. Praise the Lord for all you have, and in addition to a chance at life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, thank God for those Texas Roadhouse rolls!

May God bless you, and God Bless the United States of America.
Let freedom ring!

Happy 250th, AMERICA!