To Be an American

The 4th of July is one of my favorite holidays.  I love the traditions:  the chuckwagon breakfast, the best worst parade in the country, the water parade, the barbeques, the fireworks.  At the parade, Scott got a little bored.  Yes, it's long, but you see all the people you know, the parade is full of all the businesses and kids you know, and let's face it, there's no place else you'd rather be than in your own hometown, roasting in the sun along with your people.  It's where you belong.

Even if there are weird photobombers on the loose.

Look at my dad's shirt.  Take a guess at how many 4th of July's ago he got that.  Golda and Ruby were messaging us during the parade, a little homesick for the Kaysville 4th of July festivities.  At first, I was mortified that they were homesick.  My heart hurt for them, knowing what a hollow feeling it is, and how unrequited it feels, not being able to be hoooooome.

But Scott reminded me that it's OK that they feel uncomfortable emotions, and it's true.  I remember looking out over the Mediterranean in my early 20's, alone, and having a strange sensation of being lonesome for the future, for a part of my life that was still a mystery and had yet to happen.  I never have that feeling anymore, but I like to remember it now and feel the satisfaction of having my previously uncharted future right here with me.

Also, since it was Independence Day, I thought about how going to a foreign country really brings to light one's American-ness.  I never thought about what it was about me that was American until I spent some time in Spain.  I had been to Europe before, but either as a tourist or too young to think about the cultural differences in terms of myself.  A couple of summers in Spain, and it dawned on me how intrinsic my culture was to who I was.  Noticing the differences made me appreciate both cultures more.

I believe you get to know yourself living in a foreign culture in a way that you can't any other way.  And that's what my girls were doing as we watched the parade we've seen dozens of times, as we watched the same fireworks that light up the sky every year, as we relaxed in the familiar setting of our parents' homes, surrounded by all the people we know and love.  On the other side of the world, those Kaysville traditions tugged on my girls' hearts as they ate their French yogurt and sat in French gardens, trying to appreciate a slower pace so unfamiliar to them.  Next year, it might be a hundred degrees at the parade.  They might be sticky with their little sister's taffy fingers.  But our girls will never question that they are home.

And they'll probably miss France.  :)

One of the parade floats shipwrecked at the law office!