Today is Independence Day 2011.
(Tee hee.)
But seriously, today we celebrate the birth of our nation. We are...google searching...235 years old today!
Okay, alright, I'll sober up. After this last swig of Mike's Hard Lemonade.
Yes, today we celebrate our Independence from England's rule with barbecues, burgers, hot dogs, bratwurst, potato salad, alcohol, fireworks and parades. What these things have to do with a big bloody war with the Red Coats, I can only guess. So I will.
The ketchup symbolizes the blood shed so we can be free. The mustard refers to the phrase "No guts, no glory." The onions symbolize the tears shed by those close to those we lost in the war and the pickle relish represents the innovation we have undergone since those days of powdered wigs.
I'm an ass, I know.
You see, I am actually a hugely patriotic person. You would never know by the way I pretty much avoid talking about it on facebook and such. I have a younger brother who is melting in the heat of Afghanistan right now and I have purposefully avoided posting about that as much as possible. My siblings probably think I'm either a cold-hearted b*tch or incredibly stupid. The truth is, I'm VERY aware of the fact that while they're constantly posting about how much they love Tim and how much they are proud of him and what he's already accomplished. I can barely stand to read it.
So today, I confess.
When Tim was younger, he did a project in class where he had to write a paragraph about his hero. And he chose me. I was surprised and profoundly humbled. I don't know if he'll ever know how that has shaped the way I feel about him. I had NO IDEA I was affecting his life enough even when he was that young to be a hero of his. And I don't know how to tell him he's my hero. He is way above and beyond anything that I have ever done. I went to college, he went to boot camp. I fell in love, he fell in love. I was broken up with, he was widowed. I moved to Ohio, he moved to Afghanistan. He's dealt with life on a much bigger and scarier scale than I could have dared. And he's just beginning!
(No, that's not Tim.)
I went home to MN to see him for a weekend and he barely looked at me. I don't know what that means to him. I have been so stopped-up about this for years. I am on the verge of sobbing whenever I look at pictures of him in his uniform and it really takes all I have to keep from losing my mind at family gatherings where he's the center. I want for people, especially my family, to understand that I am not a cold-hearted b*tch or stupid. I am not ignorant to the importance of his service and his choices. I am not ignorant to the fact that he is so far into what he's doing that he can't talk about it. I am not ignorant to the fact that he earned a metal even before he left for Afghanistan. I am aware of these things and their importance.
I just can't handle it. For real. I can't handle the facebook posts and the "Support Our Troops" ribbons and all of those things. Yes, I am an actress. I am an excellent actress in real life. I am excellent at pretending to be stupid and ignorant. I am excellent at pretending that I have come to terms with this. But I haven't and I've been avoiding it for a long time.
The truth is, I'm terrified.
I'm terrified that my younger brother will be shot, blown up, killed in the line of fire. I'm terrified that he'll be sent back in a body bag or missing appendages or mentally retarded. I'm afraid that the Tim we know and love will be replaced by a shattered man. I don't want this for him. I want him to be as successful as he can stand and loved to the point of annoyance. I want him to have (deservedly) all of the good things in life. I don't want any bad to come to him. And to me, it's as though he wants to walk up to the face of evil and say, "Wanna dance, asshole?" I am terrified for him and the changes this will make in his life. The changes that have already been made are good! I am so crazy-proud of him that the word "proud" is impish compared to how I feel. I would take his Army picture and plaster it on my wall if I could stand to look at his set jaw, his determined eyes, his brave self.
But I just can't. I can't bring myself to that. I can't go there. And I really don't know why. I have a naturally rebellious nature...maybe that has something to do with it. My siblings have all gone and done what many people would consider "bad" things (children out of wedlock, drug-induced seizures, cigarettes, alcohol poisoning) so maybe that's why I'm the "good" one. If they had all been perfect children, I'm sure I'd be a mess. My siblings all post and talk about Tim openly on facebook; I joke about bratwurst. Yes, of course I'm proud of him! But I can't talk about it person-to-person and I can't make myself do something so similar to what my other siblings have done. I want to do something better. Bigger. More meaningful. But I can't get close enough to my brother to really get to know him. So I do nothing instead.
I've got issues.
Tim, I love you. And it's not the well-we're-related-so-I-guess-I-should-say-it thing. It's a love better described as adoration and respect. One that runs nearly as strong as my love for Mom and Dad (despite themselves LOL). And really, that's all I got.
So today, while you try not to blow yourself up with fireworks and try not to burn your fingers on the grill, please just take one tiny second out of your day to thank someone who served for us. And if you don't know anyone, then just say thank you and send it off to nowhere. Somewhere, somebody needs it. If you pray, say a quick prayer. That's all. If you want to donate or serve our soldiers, here's a great place to start. I am a closet member of this organization.
At any rate, there it is. My confession. Now you know. Now I have to kill you.
(Just kidding. About the killing part.)
Happy 4th of July!
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