The World Doesn’t Revolve Around Me (Or America.) Some 4th of July Perspective

It’s July 4th in 2008 and I’m in Fort Walton Beach, Florida and I’m desperate to see the most epic fireworks show I’ve ever seen. The firework displays I grew up with in Oklahoma took place in fields—this one will be over the ocean. There is a massive crowd gathered around the bay, so I have to slither like a snake to get closer.

Because with fireworks, the closer the better. Like most kids, fireworks drew me close with a powerful combination of dazzle and danger. In the movie Home Alone, Kevin McCallister taught us the beauty of Black Cats. We threw them in buckets and in ponds. One of the neighborhood kids put them on animals (I’m pretty sure he turned out to be a serial killer.) We would see who could get the closest to them, which turned out to be Ricky when he blew off a piece of his finger.

Closer is better, but sometimes you can be too close.

Finally, I make it to the front, as close as possible. So close, I have to contort my neck to look directly up. The show is epic. Rings of color and light overhead and mirrored below in the water—like having two shows at once. But, as I tilt my head at 90 degrees, one blast showers me with hot ash. A piece lands in my eye. It is agonizing. Thankfully, I’m wearing contacts, but the pain is bad enough that I scurry away, slithering back through the crowd. Closer is better, but sometimes you can be too close.

The Best Country Ever?

When you’re too close, it’s hard to see things as they really are. A photo is blurry when too close—sometimes you have to zoom out to get a clearer picture.

The 4th of July makes me think about my relationship with America. I’m grateful for this country, but my perspective has changed over the years.

When I was young, I was told it was the best country ever. But it wasn’t just America, it was everything I was close to. My local town was the best—we competed against rival towns who were evil and worth yelling at in basketball games. My Southern Baptist denomination was the best—the Methodists, for all we knew, were practicing witchcraft behind closed doors. Oklahoma was the best state—built by gritty pioneers who run toward tornados instead of away.

People from other towns were different. Methodists were different. People from other states were different.

Differences create competition and separation. Us vs. them. The boundaries were drawn.

But then, I moved to another town—full of people who thought THEIR town was the best. Then, I started attending a ministry with people from other denominations—and they didn’t carry snakes or perform incantations. I lived in different states with varying political views. I read books written by people of different cultures, ethnicities, or religions. But the biggest one was when I traveled to other countries—and fell in love. These people and their cultures and local expressions were as beautiful and valid as my own.

The farther I zoomed out, the clearer the picture became. The world wasn’t as small as I thought. And it didn’t revolve around me or America. I gained perspective.

Fireworks From a Plane

My favorite fireworks show didn’t happen at a close distance. Instead, I was on a plane, returning from my second trip to South Africa. Miles away from the action, I could see multiple firework shows at once. They looked like little colorful blooms. The distance didn’t lesson the experience; it enhanced it.

As I watched the shows, I thought of the diversity and variance of these celebrations—different people, from different towns, all celebrating at once but too close to see others doing the same thing. But from miles above, you can’t see boundary lines. Everything blends together.

This is what perspective does, right? As we zoom out, we see things we normally miss. And the picture is bigger and more beautiful than we could imagine.

Sikhs for America

The first year we attended the San Jose 4th of July parade, I caught myself tearing up. It didn’t happen during an expected time, like the national anthem—but when a group called the Bay Area Sikhs for America walked by wearing turbans and holding American flags.

I had a visceral reaction. In America, Sikhs are often harassed and persecuted for the way they look or dress. They are different. They don’t look like the stereotypical American. They are them. We are us.

But these folks courageously reminded others that they too, are American.

Because that is our story, right? The excellence of our nation is not that we look, think, or believe the same—it’s our diversity. We are a melting pot. This is us. Immigrants and refugees and migrants from Europe and Asia and South America, crossing boundaries to be a united group of humans.

I’m not interested in whether America is the best country. That perspective is too narrow and close for me. It’s a perspective that leads to competition, which leads to rivalry, which leads to violence.

I honor and respect and love the freedoms we have and the sacrifices given for them. I never want to take for granted the privileges I’ve been born into or the ones who have served this country.

But I also want to zoom out.

To remember the experiences of my friends of color who perhaps have a more fraught relationship with this nation.

To remember that my brothers and sisters live all over the world and all these boundaries are imaginary.

To remember that my views are incomplete, imperfect, and biased.

To remember that maybe I can learn from anyone.

To expand my perspective and realize the world doesn’t revolve around me.

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