Happy 4th of July! Today's post is the second part of a story posted last Friday. I hope you enjoy, and, as always, thanks for stopping by.
It's July 4, 2004, and I'm sitting in a barber's chair on a sunny afternoon in El Paraíso, Honduras. My barber, a young man with a thorough knowledge of U.S. history and our founding fathers, stops cutting my hair and asks me, "Kevin, do you believe that in the U.S. anything is possible?" I pause for a moment and reply, "I do." He looks at me, as if pondering my response, and says, "I think in Honduras anything is possible." Suddenly he starts laughing and shaking his head, amused by what I now realize was a sarcastic response. He points his scissors towards a man seated across the barber shop who has joined in the laughter. I sit quietly in my chair.
It's July 4, 2004, and I'm sitting in a barber's chair on a sunny afternoon in El Paraíso, Honduras. My barber, a young man with a thorough knowledge of U.S. history and our founding fathers, stops cutting my hair and asks me, "Kevin, do you believe that in the U.S. anything is possible?" I pause for a moment and reply, "I do." He looks at me, as if pondering my response, and says, "I think in Honduras anything is possible." Suddenly he starts laughing and shaking his head, amused by what I now realize was a sarcastic response. He points his scissors towards a man seated across the barber shop who has joined in the laughter. I sit quietly in my chair.
I can still see that moment today as clearly as the day it happened. I believe in the United States of America. I believe that collectively its people can accomplish anything. These convictions, I discovered that day, are not shared by others in regards to their own country. Sadly, since that day, I've discovered they aren't shared by many Americans as well. Each week, it seems, I read another article about the decline of the U.S. The best years are behind us. The future is bleak. We are no longer the great respected nation we once were. Articles are written describing the countries that are better than us, happier than us, more prosperous than us. I receive emails reminiscing about the good old days in America. It was great to be alive in the 1950s. No, the 1960s were the greatest years. Those my age may recall the 1980s as being the best of times. Despite the debate, a lot of people seem to agree on one thing: The past was a lot better than the present is or the future will be.
It's an absolutely brilliant November morning in New Orleans. I have time to spare before boarding a bus to the airport for my return flight to Virginia, so I decide to visit the The National World War II Museum. I spend four hours touring the building, immersing myself in the experience. I sit down on a bench across from a picture of a group of women working in a factory and building fighter planes. I stare at the picture, study the faces of the women. After hours in the museum, I'm struck by one word: sacrifice. You would be hard-pressed to find anyone in America who did not make great sacrifices during this time in our history. My grandfather served in Italy, missed the birth of his son, and was nearly killed when a german bullet shattered his helmet before burying itself in his back. There was a collective belief back then that when everyone worked together, the United States was unstoppable.
I'm still thinking about the museum as the bus races through New Orleans towards the airport. Staring out the window, I'm saddened by the landscape spread out before me. The poverty of New Orleans is astounding. Dilapidated buildings, crumbling houses, barred windows, and rusted cars race past my window in a seemingly endless reminder that, while we defeated a seemingly invincible army nearly 70 years ago, we are failing miserably in our attempts to reverse the tide of poverty today.
Which leads us back to the young, smiling girl in my rearview mirror from last week's story. The poverty rate in America is inexcusable. Children in our poorest neighborhoods are receiving a lousy education and, at an early age, being set on a path to a life of poverty. This is not their problem, this is our problem. What if Americans took on the issue of poverty and education (you can't discuss one without the other) like we took on Nazi Germany 70 years ago? What if we were all willing to sacrifice, to make an effort to assist the neediest in our community, to understand their plight, and then to work together to stem this rising tide. Don't tell me it's too hard or that we're all to busy. Don't tell me the problem is too difficult to solve. If you doubt, take a trip to New Orleans and spend some time studying the faces of the people who knew that America could accomplish anything . . . and then proved it. We Americans today are equally capable.
I admittedly don't know how to best help that young girl, waving at me as I left the parking lot last week. However, in that moment, I made a promise to myself: I'm going to figure it out. It's time for me to study my life and determine where I can sacrifice to make that happen. I'm not going to become the cynical man, sitting in a barber shop discussing the good old days and throwing around comments like, "America used to be great." I'm going to become part of the solution in whatever small way I can. I owe it to myself, my family, my neighbors and my community to believe in my country and its people; to believe in that great American philosophy that together we can accomplish anything.
Now, go celebrate the 4th of July for the wonderful holiday it is. Revel in everything that makes our country great. Soak in the experience of watching fireworks light up the sky. Be grateful for where you are, for where you live, and think about what you can do to insure that America's best days are yet to come.
It's an absolutely brilliant November morning in New Orleans. I have time to spare before boarding a bus to the airport for my return flight to Virginia, so I decide to visit the The National World War II Museum. I spend four hours touring the building, immersing myself in the experience. I sit down on a bench across from a picture of a group of women working in a factory and building fighter planes. I stare at the picture, study the faces of the women. After hours in the museum, I'm struck by one word: sacrifice. You would be hard-pressed to find anyone in America who did not make great sacrifices during this time in our history. My grandfather served in Italy, missed the birth of his son, and was nearly killed when a german bullet shattered his helmet before burying itself in his back. There was a collective belief back then that when everyone worked together, the United States was unstoppable.
I'm still thinking about the museum as the bus races through New Orleans towards the airport. Staring out the window, I'm saddened by the landscape spread out before me. The poverty of New Orleans is astounding. Dilapidated buildings, crumbling houses, barred windows, and rusted cars race past my window in a seemingly endless reminder that, while we defeated a seemingly invincible army nearly 70 years ago, we are failing miserably in our attempts to reverse the tide of poverty today.
Which leads us back to the young, smiling girl in my rearview mirror from last week's story. The poverty rate in America is inexcusable. Children in our poorest neighborhoods are receiving a lousy education and, at an early age, being set on a path to a life of poverty. This is not their problem, this is our problem. What if Americans took on the issue of poverty and education (you can't discuss one without the other) like we took on Nazi Germany 70 years ago? What if we were all willing to sacrifice, to make an effort to assist the neediest in our community, to understand their plight, and then to work together to stem this rising tide. Don't tell me it's too hard or that we're all to busy. Don't tell me the problem is too difficult to solve. If you doubt, take a trip to New Orleans and spend some time studying the faces of the people who knew that America could accomplish anything . . . and then proved it. We Americans today are equally capable.
I admittedly don't know how to best help that young girl, waving at me as I left the parking lot last week. However, in that moment, I made a promise to myself: I'm going to figure it out. It's time for me to study my life and determine where I can sacrifice to make that happen. I'm not going to become the cynical man, sitting in a barber shop discussing the good old days and throwing around comments like, "America used to be great." I'm going to become part of the solution in whatever small way I can. I owe it to myself, my family, my neighbors and my community to believe in my country and its people; to believe in that great American philosophy that together we can accomplish anything.
Now, go celebrate the 4th of July for the wonderful holiday it is. Revel in everything that makes our country great. Soak in the experience of watching fireworks light up the sky. Be grateful for where you are, for where you live, and think about what you can do to insure that America's best days are yet to come.