Happy Birthday! (Long!)

Today I got utilities bill in the mail that charged me twice the amount I actually owed. I got into my car with rage in my heart to drive into the city at the 5:00 rush hour with the documents I needed to straighten the matter out. The encounter turned out better than I expected and I left the office in question with a credit of $37 instead of the bill for $117.00 that I had carried in there.

I live in a small mountain town, outside of Colorado Springs, at the foot of Pikes Peak, the mountain which inspired Katherine Lee Bates to write the words to "America the Beautiful." Colorado is almost at the heart of this country on the map and Colorado Springs is located in the heart of Colorado. We have had an unusually wet June here with rain almost every day. Today the sun finally came out.

I stepped out of that office into a beautiful sunlit summer evening. Great shafts of sunlight were striking down on the mountains as I began my homeward drive west toward them. All around me were people in cars of every make and type - from old junkers to snappy new sports cars and everything in between. The rush hour past, the traffic flowed like liquid across the streets of my city - streets with names like Cache Le Poudre, El Paso, Uinta, Bonfoy, Fontaine, McArthur, and even Shultz. French, Spanish, American Indian, Scottish, and German - they all joined up at Union Blvd. My car seemed to float down Union, past well-kept houses with tidy lawns, lush green city parks, stores with banners saying, "Welcome home, troops!" (Colorado Springs is a military town), and flags everywhere, draped from porches or flying from flagpoles in honor of the coming 4th of July.

As I drove along, I thought of the utilities worker who had come out to my house to fix the problem I had been billed for. He was originally from Puerto Rico and had served 20 years in the US army. He told me with pride of his son who had just graduated from the University of Colorado with a degree in teaching. I thought of the black lady just behind me in line at the utilities office. She had a sweet face with tired eyes, and she obviously just gotten off work and picked up her small daughter from day care. The woman held her utilities bill and money tightly in one hand, her small daughter by the other. The little girl smiled shyly up at me as we stood in line. I thought about the young white woman who helped me resolve the billing dispute - she was tired, it was the end of a long day, and the computers were refusing to print, but she was still courteous toward me and very efficient at her job.

So I drove along in the summer dusk in my beautiful American City in the heart of this country with my American people in cars around me - teenagers and old people, Mom's with kids, and young men in convertibles with the tops down, taking in the warm evening air. I felt such pride in my American people and the American blood (Welsh, Swiss, and Cherokee) which flows in my veins. The words "This is my own, my native land," began to repeat themselves in my mind.

When I got home, the sun was just beginning to set across the mountains and the light had reached that magic "horizon event" which sometimes occurs here in the clear air of the American West. The soft dusk air was saturated with color, the light waves seem to resonate off the surrounding red, and purple mountains with snow capped Pikes Peak indeed shining majestically above them all. The light seemed to reverberate with the soft sound of distant drums from the Native American circle that meets every Thursday night in my little town's main park. Flowers were blooming all around me in my own and neighbor's gardens. It was pure magic, nothing but.

I feel such gratitude to be an American, to live in our prosperous land, among our hard working people. We may have our differences of opinion, we Americans, the wealthier among us may be a tad too complacent, and sometimes "Joe Six Pack" may have one too many beers; but all in all, we are a good, hard-working people with kind hearts who care about one another. I have only to look around my own town and nearby city to see the proof of this everywhere in those well kept houses, the flags draped from porches, the people standing in line to pay their bills.

On this 4th of July, I would like to express my gratitude to three wonderful Americans who have served our country; Sergeant Major Sam Wilson, United States Army, veteran of WWII, Korea and Vietnam - I will honor his memory always; First Sergeant Ron Maracle, full blooded Mohican Indian, and hero of the First Gulf War; and Lt. Colonel Alan Chew, USAF, retired; and to all the rest of our military and to all the rest of my fellow Americans - Happy Birthday to you all, each and everyone.