Why do I weep for America?

My friends, I am nearly overcome. I feel today as if my beloved USA is slipping away, & my hands are not strong enough to hold on to it. To quote the Rock Biter from Never Ending Story, "They look like good, strong hands, don't they?" That's what I always thought they were - good, strong, artistic hands. Sadly, I have been proven wrong, so many times. Like the Biter, I cannot hold onto Nothing.

My vision of the US (heretofore arbitrarily referred to as 'America') was of a wondrous place where the only bounds were those of possibility; where the fact of my "Difference" was to be celebrated within the bounds of inclusion. An America where all that was needed was the will, the energy, the verve & determination, because nothing else would be put in your way.

My grandfathers slaved in coal mines & paid the price with their broken bodies & destroyed lungs. Thru it all, they loved this America & supported it proudly. Two sons served under our flag - one was never the same after Korea. Still, Grandpap knew the price of freedom.

When my sister died in Egypt, her husband, a Saudi pilot, was devastated. We lost track of him until Desert Storm, when he was interviewed by CNN on the tarmac: his quote, with tears running down his cheeks, "Gentlemen, all I can tell you is God Bless the United States of America!" Abdullah knew the price of freedom.

My late Cajun buddy Jack served in Vietnam, & suffered from the effects of Agent Orange exposure. Jack knew the price of freedom.

I do not advocate blind allegiance - Grandpap made that clear when we discussed the possibility that I would be drafted. You can be loyal to your country without sacrificing your right to disagree or dissent where appropriate.

My darlin' wife can look at me & say, "Your hands hurt, don't they." I cry the tears of the Rock Biter, staring at them, knowing I am not strong enough.