Recently Sue, Rose and I had the chance to be present in Concord, New Hampshire for the swearing in of new US citizens. Sue, who runs an adult ed. program in North Conway, NH, was invited by Cham, one of her students originally from Thailand, who was being sworn in that day.
We arrived an hour early, but the line at the security check-in at the Federal building was already almost out the door. In spite of the rather cumbersome task of going through security, no one was agitated. In fact, the atmosphere - although too reverent to be called party like – was certainly joyous and celebratory. New citizens, friends and family all freely talked with each other in line until we finally got through.
Once inside, we got our first look at all the new citizens as they sat together in the front of the room. I would estimate that this group of new Americans was only 20 to 25 per cent Caucasian. This was clearly not my grandparents’ immigration! Once the ceremony began, in fact, the judge introduced the 76 new citizens by the 37 countries they represented. Alphabetically, they ranged from Argentina to United Kingdom. They came from as close as Canada and as far away as New Zealand. They came from North America, South America, Asia, Africa, Europe, the Caribbean, and the South Pacific. India had the largest group of new citizens that morning with, I estimated, nine or ten. There was a new citizen from the country of Sudan and two from the very new country of South Sudan.
New Hampshire’s outgoing Governor Lynch spoke and posed for pictures with the new citizens after it was all done. The ceremony was brief, and my highlight was the singing of “America the Beautiful” by a fourth grade class from a local Catholic school. I never noticed the lyrics of the second verse, where it says, “America, America, God mend thine every flaw.” I like the vulnerability there: our country does have flaws, and we’re not too proud to ask that those flaws change.
After the ceremony, Cham proudly had her picture taken with Sue, and most of the other 76 new Americans had their pictures taken with friends and family, too. One middle aged man from South Sudan, who arrived and left alone, made brief eye contact with me, so I quickly extended my hand and congratulated him and welcomed him to America. He smiled proudly and thanked me. I wonder if this brief exchange meant as much to him as it did to me.
By the end of the day, I imagined myself sitting at Hadlock Field, Portland’s minor league stadium, and I imagined any one of these 76 new Americans sat next to me. If this were to happen, I know I’d be honored, and I would probably even strike up a conversation with them. I imagined that, if they were from a country where baseball was not a big part of their culture, I’d be willing – even pleased - to explain the game even as it was being played out before us. Perhaps I’d spring for hot dogs for us. That is no small part of my American dream.
Patriotism is a quality that sometimes confuses me. Does patriotism mean smugness simply because, by chance, I was born in a safer, more affluent country than most of the population in all of human history? If so, I don’t want any part of it. Does patriotism mean one believes their country is always right? If coming of age in the 1970’s, under Presidents Nixon, Ford and Carter – the Larry, Moe and Curly of American politics – didn’t convince me this was untrue, my first three minutes visiting Little Big Horn did. Is a patriot one of those guys ranting on the radio about why everyone who disagrees with them is unAmerican? I don’t think so. In fact, it’s their intolerance of others’ freedom of speech that makes them unpatriotic.
If, however, patriotism means being in awe every time I teach the Constitution to my middle school students because it is such a brilliantly crafted document; If it means that I’m confident that this document will stand the test of time, not necessarily when you measure its effectiveness in days or years, but in decades and centuries; If it means gratitude for the freedom to share the Word of God with no serious persecution; If it means gratitude that for some reason God let me be born where there is abundance and opportunity even though I did nothing to deserve it; If it means pride in a dad who humbly served as a tank sergeant in World War Two; then yes, call me patriotic.