One of the great things about being born in January of 1971 is that I have living memory of America's bicentennial year. I remember, albeit through the filter of a child, what it was like to be living here in 1976.
In the build-up to that 4th of July, the unique greatness of the American experiment was openly celebrated, and the celebration was done without whitewashing the inevitable human sins that have always challenged the experiment.
The USA was but eight years removed from the riots of '68, six from the Kent State shootings, and a trifling two from Richard Nixon resigning in disgrace and Gerald Ford making a triage decision to pardon him before the nation's wound could organically heal. Yet none of that dampened public enthusiasm for the nation's founding ideals, nor did it dampen public commitment to keep striving for them as the nation observed the 200th anniversary of them being put to paper.
The tails side of quarters minted that year featured a Revolutionary War drummer rather than the usual eagle, with the heads side stamped "1776-1976" rather than merely "1976." I remember holding those coins in my hand when they were new and shiny and hearing people talk about why they were being made "this year only" (side note: twenty-five cents then equates to almost a buck and a half now, but I digress).
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Kennedy Space Center celebrated America's 200th birthday with a summer-spanning shindig called Third Century America, which focused on the nation's role as pioneer in space exploration, technology, and science. We - meaning myself, my parents, my cousin Rob, and my aunt and uncle - piled in a car and drove across the state to experience it.
Real life rockets were on display with some laid on their sides with their boosters separated in sequence, allowing you to see up close how big those things were that fell back to earth before a rocket's capsule escaped the atmosphere. Geodesic domes containing different exhibits were arrayed on the grounds outside the iconic space center, and inside the center we were treated to the sight of something few normal people ever got to see: a computer.
Ed White (a fellow graduate of St. Pete High!) had already become the first man to walk in space and Neil Armstrong the first to walk on the moon - events which were then recent from the perspective of adults - but computers themselves had yet to enter daily life and still seemed somewhat fantastical. I know my memory is accurate when I say the computer we got to see was enormous and bigger than many rooms; I think it is accurate when I say the computer was bigger than some homes. I know my memory is accurate when I say the computer had many lights; I think it is accurate when I say the computer was making noise.
So while space travel had become real, had catapulted into the imaginations of people from coast to coast, and the USA was winning the space race against the USSR, the first mass-marketed personal computer had not yet been announced and the space shuttle did not yet exist (nor did Star Wars and Close Encounters of the Third Kind, for that matter!).
In hindsight, what a fascinating time that was to be alive in these United States. Yes I was a child, but I was an observant one who always paid attention to what the grown-ups were saying and doing... and who even then sat nearby and paid attention when my dad watched the evening news with Walter Cronkite... and I am here to sat that one of the most striking differences between 1976 and 2026 lies in people's ability (or lack thereof) to properly differentiate goals from obstacles on the one hand, and between starting lines and finish lines on the other.
Though there were many reasons for Americans to be pessimistic in that year of our bicentennial, they were overwhelmingly optimistic as they looked into the hazy, uncertain future and sought to fulfill America's promise without abandoning it. They were well aware of proverbial ailing trees in the proverbial forest, but did not lose sight of the forest's grandeur and did not consider burning the whole thing down instead of tending specifically to the parts that were ailing. Such has ceased to be the case during recent years in which adults have become infantile overly sensitive on social media and sought to turn every human foible into an excuse for wielding power a dangerously political crusade.
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All of which makes it intriguing that with America's sestercentennial upon us, we are being reminded of America's greatness not by our own unappreciative selves but by an influx of foreigners who have come here to watch a sport most of us don't even like.
Years ago I read John Steinbeck's novel Cannery Row, set in Monterey, California during the Great Depression, and it contained a particular line that immediately lodged deep into my brain. One of the characters, a Chinese immigrant named Lee Chong, owned a corner grocery store that Steinbeck referred to as a "miracle of supply."
Three words. That was it. Miracle of supply. It summed up America in so many ways, despite referring to a common store during an era of poverty and unease long before such things as malls, Wal-Mart, Target, Cosctco, Home Depot, etc. were even conceived.
Miracle of supply. Things were in reach here for ordinary people that simply were not in reach elsewhere for ordinary people. And on top of that, the industrious man who carved out a life for himself by bringing that supply to the sardine-packing district of a small port town was an immigrant from across the ocean. There is nothing more American than that.
America in 2026 remains a nation of supply in a world filled with nations of scarcity. Thing is, the scarcity of other nations is mostly artificial and needless, in the sense that it is imposed by governments that encumber their citizens' ingenuity and stifle their ability to meet demand. This is true even in ostensibly prosperous First World countries like Sweden, Gemany, the UK, and Canada.
By contrast, America's government - despite being undeniably corrupt, power-mad, and in need of restraint - remains less of an encumbrance to its citizens than other nations' governments are to theirs. We Americans retain a "don't tell me what to do" spirit without even realizing it. That spirit keeps our so-called leaders and would-be rulers at arm's length, however imperfectly, in ways we failed to appreciate until hordes of soccer fans arrived here for the World Cup and, thanks to their cell phone videos and social media posts, allowed us to see America anew through their eyes.
Abundance... The ability to buy groceries, clothing, medical supplies, windshield wipers, TVs, bikes, and camping equipment all from the same store... Free water in restaurants... Free refills of soda, tea, and coffee in restaurants... Getting free chips and salsa simply for sitting down at a Mexican-themed restaurant... Walking into a building on a scorching hot day knowing it'll be comfortable and air-conditioned inside... Parking lots big enough to find spaces, with said spaces being big enough to accommodate insanely large vehicles... Highways with a half-dozen lanes that are all wide enough for an 18-wheeler... Ranch dressing... Scores of options on our store shelves when it comes to bread, beverages, chips, sweets, fruit, vegetables, cold cuts, toothbrushes, shampoo, and on and on and on.
We take these things for granted. Fortunately, our international guests this year are reminding us we should not, as these things are unthinkable to them.
But more importantly, our international guests are gushing about our friendliness, our hospitality, and our eagerness to converse, engage, encourage, and share. They tell us these traits are the norm here but not elsewhere, and they tell us these traits are like leaven for their hearts.
From where I sit, America's abundance and friendliness are intertwined. You can't have one without the other. Our friendliness points to abundance because we want to help and want to meet demand, while our abundance points to friendliness because we have it within our cumulative ability to meet help and to meet demand. And - this is key - our ability to do all this and become a mega version of Lee Chong's "miracle of supply" is because the majority of us look to ourselves and our populace for solutions rather than looking to our government.
On this sestercentennial of the Declaration of Independence, let us look through the eyes of our visitors to recall the source of our blessings.
Technically, P.J. O'Rourke's was talking about "responsibility" when he said it comes from friends, family, self, and social ties. But that truth applies every bit as much to provision as it does to responsibility. So on this sestercentennial, let us also remember his warning that government is only meant to be "something we use in an emergency."
The United States was founded specifically to oppose centralized power and uphold the dignity of human beings. We have often failed to live up to that promise, but we have never stopped striving for it, and since we have come much closer to grasping it than any other nation has, we must not lose sight of it and not lose faith.
Independence Day is tomorrow. Enjoy it and appreciate it.
