My Place in America

I guess that’s going to be a complicated answer. Yet there are many perquisites that need to be defined. What is America? A place? A manmade institution founded by rotten old Columbus or birthed by Thomas Jefferson? Is it an idea? An artful idealization of how we want to relate to each other in the world? I do not know. To me, America is struggling, although I am extremely grateful for my privilege to have not grown up in a war torn or impoverished nation, although I am appreciative of the freedoms granted to me by my birthplace, I am often not proud to be an American. We are a troubled nation, one not free of corruption nor greed, and one not entirely free of discrimination or inequality. But I believe we are changing, that we may join at the hip with lady liberty and continue to persevere in the face of injustice and wrongdoing. Some may say that my standards are high, that America should be loved as a person, appreciated with flaws, yet when we decide to shut our eyes and hold our breath at the thought of the people done wrong by our nation, I find it hard to be proud! When needy refugees or children brought here for new life turned away, when Flint’s water still runs unclear or KKK marches unabashedly in the streets it is hard to be proud! But alas, I still love America, the wounded beast is she, the multicolor eyes that look upon the starry flag-- anyone from modern day Illegal Immigrants to the Native Americans to every minority in between, from the flora, to the fauna, and even the air we breathe, injustice has been present and of that, I am not proud. Yet who am I? My place or purpose? Physically, I inhabit the nation I have just critiqued. Metaphorically? Within the biosphere? I haven’t the slightest clue. I’m a senior in high school in Clayton Ohio writing an essay for my English class. To mother earth I am but another louse. To society, I am hopelessly unimportant. My place in America is as the future, the inevitable, and the child. I am here to stay, to improve, and maybe, one day, press my thumb into the wet cement of our enigmatic and dynamic world.