Happy 250th Birthday

 By Marino Apollinari

For a while, I thought I was going.

Washington, D.C. The 250th birthday of the United States of America. Fireworks over the capital. A once-in-a-lifetime spectacle. Seven and a half hours there. Seven and a half hours back. Two nights in Bethesda. Metro into the city. Alone, which I thoroughly enjoy doing. Better alone than with the wrong one. Maybe even alone for the last time. Better alone until the right one appears out of nowhere.

The weather was bad, but that almost made the idea better. Less people, maybe. Fewer casual spectators. A little more room to move. I know how to manage heat. I know how to manage thunderstorms. I know how to manage a long drive. I had the money. I had the points. The trip could have been free.

The chores were nearly done. The house was close enough. The decision had narrowed down to what decisions eventually become: go, or do not go.

And in my mind, I went.

I could see it clearly. Hot air rising off the pavement, but I'm chillin'. Crowds of fellow Americans packed shoulder to shoulder, all looking toward the same sky. Security checkpoints. Sirens somewhere in the distance. Children on shoulders. Flags in people’s hands. Sweat on everyone’s faces. The city dressed up for a birthday party.

Then the fireworks.

Red, white, and blue over Washington. Thunder without war, though actual war was still somewhere in the background.   A darker thought crossed my mind, too. Hopefully, by staying home, I did not simply avoid being present for something terrible — some large act of violence by entities that hate this country and the freedoms it represents. I do not write that as a prediction. I write it as the kind of thought that enters the mind when a massive national celebration, deep political instability, and public vulnerability all occupy the same space. 

Light without explanation. A country watching itself celebrate itself.

For the length of the show, everybody gets the sky.

That is the part that almost pulled me there. Not the travel. Not the spectacle alone. Not the photograph, though I did ask myself if that was what I was chasing.  Approximately 850,000 pyrotechnic projectiles is no joke. The spot I had researched for the show would have put me on the Potomac river about a 6-iron away from 8 barges packed with firework mortars. That said, I already have an awesome fireworks photograph. Maybe one of the best I have ever taken.

So why go?

The real reason would have been to stand there and celebrate what was with what will be.

And that is where the trip started to fall apart.

Because I am deeply concerned about the future of this country. Deeply concerned. I do not say that lightly, and I do not say it for drama. I look around and see problems compounding on top of problems, year after year after year, while too many people in power act as if the rug can keep hiding what has already spilled out from underneath it.

The dog and pony show goes on. Make America Healthy Again, going nowhere. Make America Great Again, while the country sits near forty trillion dollars in debt. Slogans everywhere. Systems still broken. Arguments everywhere. Accountability nowhere near enough.

These problems are not because of me. I am self-sufficient. I work. I think. I build. I pay attention. I do not need Washington to rescue me from my own life.

But the country is not one person.

These problems are the result of decades of elected officials, from both parties, pushing consequences forward and calling that leadership. Seventy years of decisions. Seventy years of avoidance. Seventy years of pretending the bill would not come due if it was handed to someone else.

I voted for Trump. I would vote for Trump again. But Trump and Kennedy can only do so much. One man cannot repair a country that requires everyone in Washington, D.C. to act like adults at the same time. That is the part that is almost impossible to watch. The people trusted with the future of the country too often act like kindergarteners fighting over crayons, while the building fills with smoke.

It is embarrassing.

Worse than embarrassing, it is dangerous.

And that is what I could not shake.

I could make the drive. I could handle the heat. I could handle the storms. I could handle the crowds. I could handle being alone. I could even handle the disappointment if the weather ruined the view.

What I could not handle was the feeling that I would be standing in a massive crowd, celebrating a country whose future I am deeply worried about, while the people responsible for addressing that future continue to perform patriotism instead of practicing responsibility.

That is not cynicism. It is grief with its eyes open.

So I am not going.

I will stay home. I will spend time with my family. I will try to catch up on yard work. I will relax.

I have earned that.

Maybe there is something more honest about watching from where I am. No chase. No forced symbolism. No need to prove I was there. No need to turn the country’s birthday into content. No need to stand drenched in the capital pretending the spectacle answers the question.

The fireworks will happen without me.

The sky will still light up.

People will cheer.

For a few minutes, maybe the whole country will look beautiful.

And then the smoke will drift.

And the work will still be there.

From home I will fly my flag proudly in honor of the people who sacrificed their lives for the freedoms I enjoy. My concern for the country does not lessen my respect for them. If anything, it deepens it. They earned more than a symbol, more than a slogan, and more than a passing acknowledgment. They earned our gratitude. They earned our responsibility. Thank you.

I should have probably went. Fuck. 

Created by Marino Apollinari and ChatGPT, with Grammarly used for grammar and spelling review.

This story is a personal expression by Marino Apollinari and an exercise of his First Amendment rights, which he loves!