The Sorrow of Patriotism Divided – July Fourth with Ben and Gerri

PART 1 ARTICLE 7 AUDIO FILE IN FOOTER

In my neighborhood, fireworks light up the sky for an entire week surrounding the Fourth of July. I can appreciate the fun and joy in it, and I would never interfere with anyone’s choice to celebrate. Living near the water, I’m fortunate to have a beautiful view of fireworks from surrounding towns along the shoreline.

However, my dogs, Ben and Gerri, along with many other dogs, are deeply disturbed by the noise. Last night, as the fireworks began, so did the barking and quivering. I’ve adopted a new, rather unconventional approach to manage their anxiety: I lure them with a treat, sit them on my lap, and have a long, soothing conversation. Sometimes it works, other times they continue to race back and forth, barking like little maniacs. But for some reason, last night, it worked.

Using what my daughter used to call my “mental health voice”—a tone she often found annoying when I expressed my wisdom gently and peacefully — I spoke to Ben and Gerri about the Fourth of July. I explained to them that humans celebrate this holiday with loud, frightening noises that dogs naturally interpret as danger. But, I reassured them, the noise wouldn’t last forever.

As they sat there with their heads tilted and dark, soulful eyes fixed on me, my voice grew somber. I shared with them how, for me, July 4th has lost its original meaning. Once a joyous celebration of patriotism, freedom, and democracy, the day now feels different. Sure, the barbecues, parties, colorful fireworks, and gatherings of friends and family are still wonderful — we need more holidays like that. But for several years now, I’ve struggled to rejoice in the direction our country is heading. Something has changed, and I no longer feel optimistic about the future of our democracy.

Patriotism, once a source of unity, has become fraught with hate and division. The camaraderie of being “just Americans” seems to have been replaced by partisan anger. I’m very liberal, and it’s no secret. But I don’t believe in forcing my beliefs on others, just as I don’t expect anyone to change mine. More division is the last thing we need in this already fractured landscape.

We accuse each other of “drinking the Kool-Aid” of our political beliefs, but in reality, we all choose the flavor we prefer. That’s the beauty of democracy — it allows for different perspectives and encourages debate. But what saddens me most is the hate. I suspect we all agree on more than we realize, but the aggressive rhetoric from politicians and media on all sides makes it feel impossible to achieve the unity we need.

As I spoke, Ben and Gerri pressed their heads into my chest, offering their silent comfort. They may not understand why I’m sad, but they can sense it. Their job, after all, is to comfort me, and they do it so well.

Good boy, Ben.  

Good girl, Gerri.

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