The Holy Cow! Tour
You see, I'm an American. This I know about myself. I didn't find this out by taking American Government from Dean Lundblad at CHS or when I took Idaho History from Mrs. Hopperstad in the fourth grade. (It's appropriate to note that that particular class was and is, my all time favorite. Year long self-directed study of anything Idaho, culminating in a trip to the Cataldo Mission, a place that still puts me in joyful tears of another realm. It's a bold and known fact, I love me My Idaho. And as usual, I digress.) I didn't find out about being a proud and grateful American by listening to my father, who was a prominent figure in Lake County politics and was precisely opinionated about all national and international current affairs. I didn't know that I was an American by letting my mother drag me into the DAR and Colonial Dames, because I got back. In the gene pool, that is. No. I didn't know and appreciate that I am an American until I began to travel.
And that's the thing I never expected. You learn about others but you learn about yourself. Your childhood, your faith values, your family, your community, your outlooks. And when that plane touches down on your USA point of embarkment and you feel the cool, dry air of the jetway, you say, each and every time, I'm home. God bless the USA. And sometimes, you are exalting and sometimes you are asking.
So I'm an American. And I have to swat myself upon occasion, to remember that as much as I value being an American, it's just one of the ways to be in the world. Only one of the ways. Naturally, I believe it's a better way and in most ways, a superior way. But when I am being my best self, I know that it's just one of the many ways. One of the many ways to be in the world. Swat, swat, swat.
The Maharani Jabel