The American Spirit
Yet again, I found myself approaching the opportunity for the often distasteful experience of reading that bronze crest at every rest stop. Something about praising slave owners has always left a sour spot on my pallet. Behold, to my surprise, I came to a different realization during that moment on a beautiful summer day.
Just to recap a bit with my bias to begin with It seems throughout the years it has become easy for me to grow a resentment for so many parts of U.S. history. In the ten minutes I took to stretch and embrace the beautiful nature I seen a canopy of culture stretching over the space, letting the light through it’s stretch. This was the type of cover that could shield the presence of histories taken-in by their surface level. I came to a realization, one that resonated so deeply within as chimes in the wind, or a chorus of children’s laughter during “story time.” It was the acknowledgement of the spirit of America.
I don’t want to pull focus from the work that needs to be done, unlearn my re-learned understanding of histories, or discourage anyone from anger and action. I do feel that we need to be angry, sometimes outright mad as hell. The fact that history has repeated itself in so many ways with little-to-no accountability for our actions when it comes to areas like destructive and degenerative social constructs (racism, sexism, elitism), dangerous climate change, nutritional associations working to enabling and accommodate sickness, experimental drugs disguised under the medical umbrella, and so much more. America is definitely not the only place on earth that has these issues specifically, but we still can’t leave them out for that simple fact. Peeling back the layers on the onion we can go on for days and days about these problems, as we should. It probably isn’t happening enough, in fact, but those of us who are stay blinded by the pungent stench. We forget about the spirit of America. I forgot about the spirit of America.
Immigrants are the backbone of America, in my eyes that is a hands-down truth. Our sisters and brothers who support the weight of this country are from Mexico to Spain, Syria to Denmark, Somalia to Russia, India to China, and everywhere in between. That’s not to say as the generations progress we don’t all serve importance, but so many people come to this country for reasons we can’t conceive. Consider the people who are coming here finding refuge from tragedies in their homeland or the place they called home are often proud to call America home. We could get into the role America plays in conflicts in various regions of the world. We could also talk about potentially unbalanced programs to benefit migrants, and varying opinions. One thing is for certain: many of the people who come here do so willfully and carry America with pride. I can’t ever forget about the the slavery that existed in the United States. This country was constructed by the hands of slaves, led by the whips of dead presidents. We carry that reminder with us every day, on the pavement on our streets the trains of our railroads, and the paper in our pockets. The story of African-American/Black people’s strength and adversity battling against the consistency of lineage from people who dissolved culture, wisdom, and tradition, is unmatched. Their resilience and power has a direct influence on U.S. culture. That contribution is debatedly far-unmatched, but at the least it has an undeniably heavy impact on so many facets of our every day life from what we do and dream, to what we hear and believe. Their story embodies that if the American Spirit.

As we were leaving the rest stop I heard a white by standard say “all those kids look the same,” and something about “this is America,” so-on and so-fourth. Maybe I tend to forget about the people who came here for so many reasons. The American Dream is alive and well in the hearts of the people I seen at the rest stop; or so it seems, but as important as it is to step back and remember these points, I am constantly reminded that we still have a long way to go. That is the American Spirit.
