"I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."
Oh, my heart - weeping with remembering. Feeling something, Everything. Thank you for this blessing, this song of love (you sing it so well). I am singing it with you. The Beautiful. My America. in 2017, six months after my mother died, I got into her car and drove from New York to Los Angeles. I took as long as I needed to see everything I needed to see. 40 days there and back. And what I saw, most vividly was that I would never be able to see it all - experience it all. I could maybe if I kept driving forever touch the hem of it - run my fingers along the edge of what America is. The land, the water, the sky - and how it widened and deepened as I crossed the Rockies, the colors and smells. The lightning storm that I watched moving toward me as I crossed the Nebraska/Colorado border where the land suddenly shifts from flat to rolling hills that lead to mountains. The range and depth, the endless differences and samenesses. This post is a freaking miracle, a love poem - a gasp of prayer. Thank you for taking me back across this beautiful country. For reminding me why it matters - and why I will stand up, as you have, to remind others of what it means to me... and to the world.
My heart hurts and I’m weeping from recognition of these tender, vivid, contradictory images. I’ll add: We had Gene Hackman in Hoosiers, a stubborn, profane coach of a sacred game in the heartland who fell in love with his boys and led them to underdog greatness.
Deeply. This thing rolled out on the energy of Friday night. But it was more than that, too. I needed to remind myself what our nation means to me. And it is a lot.
I wish everyone would share theirs. My 7-11 is in Hopewell, NJ, and I just remembered writing this, next to the cemetery where one of the Signers was buried. John Hart.
I realized I was holding my breath as I approached the ending. Now, I have no words, only in the form of a long sighing exhale. Writing this had to hurt. Do you remember this song? It plays in my head on repeat since what will be known as a shameful and historic day.
This is not America
Sha la la la la
A little piece of you
The little peace in me
Will die (This is not a miracle)
For this is not America
Blossom fails to bloom this season
Promise not to stare too long
(This is not America)
For this is not the miracle
There was a time
A storm that blew so pure
For this could be the biggest sky
And I could have the faintest idea
For this is not America
This is not America, no
This is not
Snowman melting from the inside
Falcon spirals to the ground
(This could be the biggest sky)
So bloody red, tomorrow's clouds
A little piece of you
The little peace in me
Will die (This could be a miracle)
For this is not America
There was a time
A wind that blew so young
For this could be the biggest sky
And I could have the faintest idea
For this is not America
This is not America, no
This is not
This is not America, no
This is not
This is not America, no
This is not
(David Bowie , Lyle Mays, Pat Metheny; This is not America, theme song for the movie Falcon and the Snowman)
I have heard but not listened closely. I will go back and listen to it with ears open. I remember having a little twitch of hurt when I heard it. Now, I think I'd hear it differently. I was more invested and it felt unfair. Let's see how that holds up.
As soon as I was old enough to understand anything, I watched Jack and Bobby fall, saw MLK silenced, felt the quiet grief of the adults around me, their faith shattering like glass underfoot. I had no memory of what came before—no DiMaggio, no Marilyn. Just bullets flying and protest songs playing before I was even fully awake. I never loved America the way they said I should, but I can see why others do. Even if most of them don’t understand why I see myself most in the son of one of the slain, whose beginning was the same as mine. #MAHA
I will read this to my sons. It frightens me that they may never know this version, though we play Bobby on repeat, and my patriotism swells again, especially with New Morning. Same goes with the soundtrack from Ken Burns' The Civil War. Anyway, this is one of the best things I've read. Adam, thank you.
Thanks so much, Isabel. Your words/sharing here mean a lot. I’m surprised how deep a chord this has struck. The ground is certainly shifting, most of all for our children.
“waking up in a tent on the valley floor of Yosemite and seeing Half Dome for the first time” made me burst into tears. That was me as a kid, on a camping trip with my dad in our huge old canvas tent, 10 years old and I have loved the outdoors ever since. What is happening to my country, to my national parks, makes me weep.
That last sentence is what gives me strength. I got up early to watch the sun rise over the ocean, just to remind myself that all of this has been here for eons and will be here long after all of us. Your essay is one I am sending to my friends this morning, to help all of us remember what’s worth saving about our country. Thank you.
This is breathtaking writing and a transformative piece. Thank you. Might I add, the spotlights of Broadway with the plays of Tennessee Williams, Lillian Hellman, August Wilson (and so many more) and of course Bruce Springsteen from down at the Jersey shore. Thank you for this treasure. 🌻
Oh yes! Sinatra and Whitney (oh how she sang the National Anthem that time) .... Maybe a part two of this marvelous piece! And send it to The Guardian or Rolling Stone or.... 🌻 almost time for salt water taffy on the boardwalk! 😊
Thank you, Michael. It is too long to read out loud, but it is, to my ear, a spoken piece, and I certainly looked for poetry and prose to get it out. It forced me to pay extra attention to the specifics.
I read all my work aloud to myself as a final edit - you're right that your piece shows attention to the all important specifics that seperate the good from the great.
From a Norwegian across the world, that has loved the same parts of that dream for as long as I can remember (or since I "met" Bruce Springsteen in the early 80s). This was beautiful and haunting, and needed.
Oh, my heart - weeping with remembering. Feeling something, Everything. Thank you for this blessing, this song of love (you sing it so well). I am singing it with you. The Beautiful. My America. in 2017, six months after my mother died, I got into her car and drove from New York to Los Angeles. I took as long as I needed to see everything I needed to see. 40 days there and back. And what I saw, most vividly was that I would never be able to see it all - experience it all. I could maybe if I kept driving forever touch the hem of it - run my fingers along the edge of what America is. The land, the water, the sky - and how it widened and deepened as I crossed the Rockies, the colors and smells. The lightning storm that I watched moving toward me as I crossed the Nebraska/Colorado border where the land suddenly shifts from flat to rolling hills that lead to mountains. The range and depth, the endless differences and samenesses. This post is a freaking miracle, a love poem - a gasp of prayer. Thank you for taking me back across this beautiful country. For reminding me why it matters - and why I will stand up, as you have, to remind others of what it means to me... and to the world.
This is beautiful. I feel ya, Amy.
My heart hurts and I’m weeping from recognition of these tender, vivid, contradictory images. I’ll add: We had Gene Hackman in Hoosiers, a stubborn, profane coach of a sacred game in the heartland who fell in love with his boys and led them to underdog greatness.
The locker room scene almost made the cut. The distraction around the tragedy of his passing made it impossible. But, yes, that scene and character. 💯
You took the road less traveled here. I'm grateful for this walk through the shining promise and bitter betrayals of the American dream.
That’s exactly right. It was a long day yesterday writing this. Thank you, Rona.
I imagine cathartic
Deeply. This thing rolled out on the energy of Friday night. But it was more than that, too. I needed to remind myself what our nation means to me. And it is a lot.
Too much, really.
Bottomless coffee refills. 7-11 on New Year’s Eve. The Blasters. Bryce Canyon. Jerry Brown dating Linda Ronstadt. And yes sir, Bob Dylan.
I wish everyone would share theirs. My 7-11 is in Hopewell, NJ, and I just remembered writing this, next to the cemetery where one of the Signers was buried. John Hart.
I realized I was holding my breath as I approached the ending. Now, I have no words, only in the form of a long sighing exhale. Writing this had to hurt. Do you remember this song? It plays in my head on repeat since what will be known as a shameful and historic day.
This is not America
Sha la la la la
A little piece of you
The little peace in me
Will die (This is not a miracle)
For this is not America
Blossom fails to bloom this season
Promise not to stare too long
(This is not America)
For this is not the miracle
There was a time
A storm that blew so pure
For this could be the biggest sky
And I could have the faintest idea
For this is not America
This is not America, no
This is not
Snowman melting from the inside
Falcon spirals to the ground
(This could be the biggest sky)
So bloody red, tomorrow's clouds
A little piece of you
The little peace in me
Will die (This could be a miracle)
For this is not America
There was a time
A wind that blew so young
For this could be the biggest sky
And I could have the faintest idea
For this is not America
This is not America, no
This is not
This is not America, no
This is not
This is not America, no
This is not
(David Bowie , Lyle Mays, Pat Metheny; This is not America, theme song for the movie Falcon and the Snowman)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0i_dek_mjXI
I have heard but not listened closely. I will go back and listen to it with ears open. I remember having a little twitch of hurt when I heard it. Now, I think I'd hear it differently. I was more invested and it felt unfair. Let's see how that holds up.
"A wind that blew so young
For this could be the biggest sky"
As soon as I was old enough to understand anything, I watched Jack and Bobby fall, saw MLK silenced, felt the quiet grief of the adults around me, their faith shattering like glass underfoot. I had no memory of what came before—no DiMaggio, no Marilyn. Just bullets flying and protest songs playing before I was even fully awake. I never loved America the way they said I should, but I can see why others do. Even if most of them don’t understand why I see myself most in the son of one of the slain, whose beginning was the same as mine. #MAHA
Make America Good Again.
I will read this to my sons. It frightens me that they may never know this version, though we play Bobby on repeat, and my patriotism swells again, especially with New Morning. Same goes with the soundtrack from Ken Burns' The Civil War. Anyway, this is one of the best things I've read. Adam, thank you.
Thanks so much, Isabel. Your words/sharing here mean a lot. I’m surprised how deep a chord this has struck. The ground is certainly shifting, most of all for our children.
(I’m glad we got to meet in person.) 😀
America's earnest optimism about the future died on Friday
Certainly the sense of (true/false/romanticized/despairing) personal connections to it that it had for me.
From a European, choked with tears, I feel something.
Outstanding and important writing Adam. Thank you.
Thank you. One planet, after all, sobering up.
“waking up in a tent on the valley floor of Yosemite and seeing Half Dome for the first time” made me burst into tears. That was me as a kid, on a camping trip with my dad in our huge old canvas tent, 10 years old and I have loved the outdoors ever since. What is happening to my country, to my national parks, makes me weep.
We arrived at night, checked into the lodge and I remember looking out the next morning at the soaring cliffs. Quite something.
The Earth will outlast all of our governments.
That last sentence is what gives me strength. I got up early to watch the sun rise over the ocean, just to remind myself that all of this has been here for eons and will be here long after all of us. Your essay is one I am sending to my friends this morning, to help all of us remember what’s worth saving about our country. Thank you.
This is breathtaking writing and a transformative piece. Thank you. Might I add, the spotlights of Broadway with the plays of Tennessee Williams, Lillian Hellman, August Wilson (and so many more) and of course Bruce Springsteen from down at the Jersey shore. Thank you for this treasure. 🌻
Yes, Bruce.
He did not make the final cuts, but:
"Springsteen who understood my hometown" and in another incarnation "Springsteen's Jersey Girls"
Sinatra didn't make it or Whitney, or twenty other great artists, but they made it deep into drafts. I'm from New Jersey. :-)
Oh yes! Sinatra and Whitney (oh how she sang the National Anthem that time) .... Maybe a part two of this marvelous piece! And send it to The Guardian or Rolling Stone or.... 🌻 almost time for salt water taffy on the boardwalk! 😊
Beautiful Adam. I'd forgotten about the Jan. 6th policeman. It was good to be reminded. Thank you.
His walking backwards is burned into my mind.
The courage
…and the loss of childhood innocence, when our country was flawed yet righteous at its core…
Now exposed in its own ignorance and arrogance, flaying and floundering, fighting for the dream, yet again, over again…
This is America 🇺🇸
Beautifully written, the best of poetry and prose combined.
Thank you, Michael. It is too long to read out loud, but it is, to my ear, a spoken piece, and I certainly looked for poetry and prose to get it out. It forced me to pay extra attention to the specifics.
I read all my work aloud to myself as a final edit - you're right that your piece shows attention to the all important specifics that seperate the good from the great.
From a Norwegian across the world, that has loved the same parts of that dream for as long as I can remember (or since I "met" Bruce Springsteen in the early 80s). This was beautiful and haunting, and needed.
Thank you, Bruce. It's a pleasure to hear that it connected with you.
No words. Only weeping.
I'm glad there was a connection for you here, Kimberly.