boxingfanmanic

These thoughts have been stirring in my hear for some time, and on this 20th anniversary of 9/11, I could think of no better time to share them -- for whatever they're worth.

I remember how we all felt on 9/11, and in its aftermath. Americans were united, in a way I couldn't remember since I was quite small. Flags sprouted on every available surface. White, Black, Brown: Christian, Jew, Muslim. Republican: Democrat. None of these labels mattered -- the only identifier anyone cared about was American.

In the intervening 20 years, we've done more harm to this country than any outsider ever could. We've brought shame upon ourselves -- witness the rioting of last summer, and the abhorrent way we've ended our involvement in Afghanistan. See the people still sitting in planes on the runways of Afghanistan, unable to return to our country, or to come here as our thanks for their help in our efforts there. Watch the attacks of various groups of Americans on other groups -- a young White man shooting up a Black church, a gunman unloading on a group of Jews leaving services at their temple, a bad apple police officer murdering a Black man in our streets. Our bureaucrats lying to us continuously, as if America were their own banana republic, and we just their subjects, rather than their bosses.

For better or worse, I still love this country. It's not perfect -- and no, it didn't even begin perfectly -- but I defy anyone to show me a better place. However imperfect, these United States were the first place that Joe Six-Pack was considered just as good as Mr. Got Rocks, and had an equal voice in whatever the country decided to become. A Black man couldn't, and that was wrong, but it was wrong thinking that had existed throughout the world for aeons, and I can't blame the founders for being men of their times.

America was the first place where anyone -- anyone! -- could become whatever their God-given abilities and their hard work and perseverance could achieve. The Great Melting Pot meant that the best of the rest of the world arrived in America -- those determined to achieve better for themselves and their families. Each new group of arrivals faced the prejudices endemic to all outsiders, but pushed ever forward, and we intermarried, those strong Americans, and we worked, and we achieved. I'm proud of that, and proud and grateful to have been born American.

As we commemorate this 20th anniversary of one of the most horrific days in our history, I would humbly beseech each and every American to consider not only where we've gone wrong, but all of the amazing things we've gotten right.

I beg you to extend your hand to your fellows in love and oneness, and to stop all of the infighting and name-calling that threatens the very existence of these United states.

Let us always strive to create a more perfect union. Let us remember the fallen on this day, and every day. The firefighters and police officers who ran toward the towers on 9/11, and not away. The young men and women killed and maimed and scarred defending us from threats like we faced on that day. Let us celebrate and embrace our differences rather than worrying about who is appropriating what from whom.

In other words, let's stop all the nonsense at get back to being the people were on that fateful day. I miss us.

These thoughts have been stirring in my hear for some time, and on this 20th anniversary of 9/11, I could think of no better time to share them -- for whatever they're worth.

I remember how we all felt on 9/11, and in its aftermath. Americans were united, in a way I couldn't remember since I was quite small. Flags sprouted on every available surface. White, Black, Brown: Christian, Jew, Muslim. Republican: Democrat. None of these labels mattered -- the only identifier anyone cared about was American.

In the intervening 20 years, we've done more harm to this country than any outsider ever could. We've brought shame upon ourselves -- witness the rioting of last summer, and the abhorrent way we've ended our involvement in Afghanistan. See the people still sitting in planes on the runways of Afghanistan, unable to return to our country, or to come here as our thanks for their help in our efforts there. Watch the attacks of various groups of Americans on other groups -- a young White man shooting up a Black church, a gunman unloading on a group of Jews leaving services at their temple, a bad apple police officer murdering a Black man in our streets. Our bureaucrats lying to us continuously, as if America were their own banana republic, and we just their subjects, rather than their bosses.

For better or worse, I still love this country. It's not perfect -- and no, it didn't even begin perfectly -- but I defy anyone to show me a better place. However imperfect, these United States were the first place that Joe Six-Pack was considered just as good as Mr. Got Rocks, and had an equal voice in whatever the country decided to become. A Black man couldn't, and that was wrong, but it was wrong thinking that had existed throughout the world for aeons, and I can't blame the founders for being men of their times.

America was the first place where anyone -- anyone! -- could become whatever their God-given abilities and their hard work and perseverance could achieve. The Great Melting Pot meant that the best of the rest of the world arrived in America -- those determined to achieve better for themselves and their families. Each new group of arrivals faced the prejudices endemic to all outsiders, but pushed ever forward, and we intermarried, those strong Americans, and we worked, and we achieved. I'm proud of that, and proud and grateful to have been born American.

Recently, I heard one wag postulate that Americans were addicted to being offended. As I considered "cultural appropriation" (guess there goes taco night), announcements about what pronoun to use for each individual ("they?" really? I mean, if you don't know how many you are, maybe it's time for analysis), American imperialism (where oh where are our lovely colonies supplying all of our tax money so we don't have to), a singular lovely thought began to emerge.

What if they all just got together in church basements and supported each other anonymously, leaving the rest of us the hell alone? :-)

A new widow sits at her kitchen table, sipping champagne and staring at the box containing her husband's ashes.

She toasts him, and then says, "Remember that fur coat you always promised me? I'm wearing it, and it's lovely."

She has another glass of champagne, then says, "Oh, and Fred! Remember that tour of European capitals that you were always going to take me on? Well, I booked it this morning, and I can't wait."

As she finishes her drink, she looks over lovingly at the box and puckers her lips.

"And Fred, remember that b****** I always promised you? Well, here it comes!"