Two hundred fifty years ago America became a free country. One signed document made it official, made it real. A birthday celebration that big should pull everybody together, uniting us because of that one thing: freedom.

The Fourth of July used to mean more than divisive politics. More than one party or the other claiming to be the one who supported America’s ideals. Fifty years ago. That’s when it was simple. Cardinals baseball on the radio, while Dad was grilling hot dogs, Grandma in the kitchen insisting on baking in the July heat, all while Mom was making potato salad and Grandpa hand-cranked homemade ice cream. Love it or hate it, there was a Chevrolet pickup in the driveway, washed that morning, shining and sparkly. That’s what you do before the parade, even if you’re not in it.

Baseball. Hot dogs. Apple pie. And Chevrolet. 

Hearing the jingle brought you back to that moment. You heard it and knew. Nobody explained it. Nobody needed to.

I keep wondering when that stopped being true. When did that happen?

Ten years ago. Probably longer than that is when our flag became a test instead of a symbol. Now it had to mean you were a supporter of one political party, because the other side couldn’t be more patriotic than your side. The flag became a beacon, sending a message to everyone around you. You belong to the “correct” political party. Fewer people trusted those daring to fly the United States Stars and Stripes.

I remember being a kid in California, lighting off fireworks in the Kmart parking lot, thinking this is what it means to be an American. Freedom to be excited that we are a free country. Back then, fireworks were safer, unless you broke off the base to one of them, we called them Piccolo Petes, and then lit it, watching it take off like a rocket with no trajectory.

That’s what I miss the most. Families did stuff together, meeting in the empty parking lot of a retail store, just to light off fifty bucks worth of fireworks. We believed in our country, both parties came together for the good of the people. Patriotism, at its best, was a posture. Showing up was enough. Flying the flag, waving it proudly. We could disagree, be friends, and enjoy the celebration of our country’s independence. Because loyalty to country was all about our people and our relationship with freedom.

Somewhere we traded posture for position, turning a shared table into a debate stage. Now everybody has to pick a side. That’s the focus. So the original thing, the cookout, the ballgame, the pie, the parade, gets lost underneath all debate.

Believing in freedom meant you believed in it. Agreement was assured. A membership card? No one thought you needed one. You could just believe it, like you believe water is wet. So show up on the Fourth because of freedom.

I still put out the flag. I stop in reverence for our national anthem. I do it because I have questions about our country and its leadership that remain unresolved. Some things are bigger than getting answers. Love? It always is.

Maybe that’s what we lost, love of our country, more than just patriotism itself. We lost the ability to love something imperfectly and out loud, without being asked to defend the imperfection first.

Two hundred fifty years is long enough to earn some grace. When do we extend it? It’s been long enough for us to get plenty of it wrong and a lot of it moving in the right direction, like a good, healthy marriage. Our country’s birthday deserves more than political debates. It deserves a celebration where everybody actually shows up. Instead of being the weird kid that no one likes, and three people show up.

Baseball. Hot dogs. Apple pie. Chevrolet.

Four things, no explanation needed. I’d like to get back to that, the trust underneath it all.