Memories and musings on Independence Day
July Fourth. Independence Day. One of my favorite weekends of the year. A weekend of many fond memories.
Childhood summers in Phoenix. Eyes red with chlorine from hours in the swimming pool. My sisters and friends resembling a blithe and happy leper colony, what with skin peeling from sunburns. These were the days before parents learned that snow-white Saxon kids might want to think about SPF 30 sunblock.
The sweet smell of charcoal, followed by hot dog after hot dog. I remember scarfing five, six of those at a time with green Kool-Aid chasers when I was in junior high. My "hollow leg," my mother used to say.
Sitting in the backyard of grandparents' house, watching the local fireworks show at the park nearby. And sparklers. My grandmother always gave us sparklers to light and twirl. And always the story of July 4, 1957, when my mother sat uncomfortably in the bleachers of a fireworks show, lo, great with Steven. I was born the next day.
Then, as I grew older, I took seriously the Declaration of Independence. A radical piece of writing, indeed! A country that became a petri dish for the grandest of social experiments: political independence. Freedom. That a citizen could, at once, be responsible to the collective and live his/her own life. That a citizen could decide upon vocation, location, religion and the pursuit of happiness. That there were such things as inalienable rights.
And that these rights were worth dying for.
Are there values worth the sacrifice of life? My life? My answer is a decided "yes." And that answer took on new meaning this year when my son announced he had decided to join the military. I believe in him. I admire him. I think he came to this life as a Warrior. A defender of justice. But still yikes. If he died fighting genocide in Rwanda (the evil we ignored: read "A People Betrayed" by Linda Melvern), I think I could get through my unspeakable grief to deep pride. But if he died in a pit of punji sticks in a euphemistic "police action" for some "we've decided you guys need a democracy" sort of thing, well, in my fantasy, I never really find a meaningful answer to why my boy is dead.
Like many of my post-Vietnam generation, I don't think I'll ever again wield a carte blanche confidence in the conflicts my government chooses and the conflicts my government ignores. Unpatriotic? Not for me. Just the opposite. I think great patriots do well to maintain a fictive attitude when the subject turns to what is and is not a just war (read H. Richard Niebuhr and his brother, Reinhold).
Then, when I studied psychology and theology, I began to notice how the idea of political/social freedom gets blurred across the boundaries of other uses of the word "freedom." Specifically, what it means to be a truly free, happy and authentic human being. As social/political ethos, I'm all for independence, individuals and freedom. But applied uncritically to the deeper experience of being human, things begin to break down. And, when applied uncritically, these important values function more like idols than like values.
Or, as my United Kingdom friend drolly observes: "You Americans have a real thing about freedom, don't you?" He wasn't being antagonistic. He was being curious. A wee bit incredulous.
See, human beings are, by nature, not independent. They are interdependent. And, while I am an individual, well, the only individual Steven worth knowing is the one you will meet in committed relationship with you! And the only true human freedom is the freedom to be obliged in lasting bonds with others. Loved ones. Family. Your mate. Friends. Making paramount the "freedom" to be always autonomous, self-sufficient and never interpersonally accountable is hardly freedom. It's pathos. A self-inflicted prison.
Autonomy is overrated. If you achieve it, your reward is that you get to be autonomous.
Me? I'm looking for a different reward. I want to learn to truly need and trust my inner circle of covenant relationships. I want to feel the sober weight of responsibility when people truly need and trust me. I want never to cease chipping away at my prodigious ego, so that there can be less of me and therefore more of me present to love and human communion.
So, today you'll find me celebrating Independence Day with the love of my life and our children. Another day of learning how to share our lives.
The reward? We get to share our lives.
Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling Wellness Center in Las Vegas and the author of "Human Matters: Wise and Witty Counsel on Relationships, Parenting, Grief and Doing the Right Thing" (Stephens Press). His columns appear on Sundays. Contact him at skalas@reviewjournal.com.
