When Patriotism Doesn't Feel Right Anymore

Today is the Fourth of July. The 250th birthday of the United States.

There was a time when this day filled me with excitement and pride. I wasn't just someone who enjoyed fireworks and barbecues (Don't get me wrong, I love me some potato salad!!) but Patriotism was woven into the fabric of my childhood.

I was a member of Children of the American Revolution and later the Daughters of the American Revolution. I qualified because one of my direct ancestors fought in the Revolutionary War.

Military service has been part of my family's story for generations. My grandfather served. My father was a Marine who fought in Vietnam. My uncle and cousin were Marines as well. My niece served in the Air Force.

As the Washington State President of the Children of the American Revolution, I was sworn into office on the lawn of George Washington's home at Mount Vernon.

I laid a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I participated in so many other wreath laying ceremonies to commemorate our country.

I once rode through a Fourth of July parade dressed as the Statue of Liberty.

All of this, I did because I felt proud to be an American. I truly believed that the United States of America was an exceptional country. I believed we were a place where people from every background could build a life together.

A melting pot.

A place where diversity was our strength.

A place where inclusion mattered.

Today, I don't experience the Fourth of July the same way.

Instead of excitement, I feel sorrow.

Not because I've stopped loving the ideals I thought this country stood for.

But because I no longer recognize them in much of what I see reflected around us.

I see exclusion where I once hoped for inclusion.

Divisiveness where I long for unity.

Contempt replacing compassion.

It breaks my heart.

Now on the 4th of July, I grieve. I grieve for the story I believed. I grieve the loss of the values I thought we stood for.

And perhaps I even grieve for my own innocence.

And, while I grieve, I also hold out hope that we can reinstate these values. The values I believed in never belonged to a government.

They belong to us.

They live in how we treat our neighbors. How we welcome the stranger. How we disagree without dehumanizing. How we choose compassion over contempt.

No country has ever perfectly embodied its highest ideals. But those ideals are still worth reaching for and we have to keep reaching.

Today, I don't celebrate, but I pause to remember the dream and the ideals I thought this country stood for.

And I quietly recommit myself to creating that dream and upholding these ideals wherever I have the opportunity.

In my home.

In my business.

In my community.

In every conversation where someone feels seen instead of judged.

Maybe that's what patriotism looks like for me now. Not blind pride.

But a willingness to keep becoming.

Because I still believe a country, like a person, is measured not by the stories it tells about itself, but by its willingness to grow into its highest values.

I find it incredibly ironic that my ancestors fought in the Revolutionary war. They fought against a system that did not reflect the principles they thought people deserved. I carry this spirit of my ancestors forward today.

Happy Fourth of July.

May we all continue striving for the values and ideals that serve the highest purpose for EVERYONE.

The photos below are a reminder that the young patriot I once was grew into the revolutionary I am today.