Friday, March 5, 2010

FREE TO BE

I have vivid memories of spending countless hours making up gymnastics/dance/performance art-ala-me routines to the music on the Free to Be You and Me album, by our favorite “it” girl, Marlo Thomas (and friends). I read the stories. I memorized the words. I mimicked the voices. I believed. I still do. The messages contained within that compilation of songs/stories are as relevant to me today as they were, circa 1970-something. So much so, that as soon as the re-printed book/CD hit the stores a few years ago, I swiped it up and began playing it for my children. The tunes are as catchy as they ever were. I especially like the one with Carol Channing about cleaning.

We often have conversations with the kids about speaking freely and what that means to us, both personally and as a country. We’re pretty adamant and redundant about using words only when we’re certain of their definition, in a context befitting our age. So when we explain what Daddy does for a living in the simplest of forms, we say Dad is a patriot. He goes to work every day to defend the right for our children to speak freely and to make choices in their lives based on the fundamental fact of the freedom of that choice. (And when the kids don’t understand our word choices, we tell them we paid dearly in college for the employment and enjoyment of fancy phonetics, so go grab the dictionary and look them up!)

My house isn’t decorated in Americana to display my patriotism. I wear it on my sleeve, right next to my heart. I get goose bumps at opening ceremonies — from the Olympics to little league. When our flag is raised, and we collectively pause in silence waiting to sing the national anthem, my eyes well up and threaten to spill over. I drove past my neighbors’ house yesterday and there was a big, bright home-made banner that read, “Welcome Home Dad!” in huge painted letters. My eyes stung instantly, and I got that choked up feeling in my throat. I know that anticipation after all the days are counted down. Dad is due home, and he’s made it safely. I've also been with my friends when the inverse was true.

I often wonder at people who feel they cannot converse with me freely “because my husband is in the Air Force.” Or who cannot fathom the choice we’ve made to live our lives in the service of our country. Because it’s hard. The opportunity for the accumulation of wealth is fairly limited, it’s unsettled, and it’s often given a very dim outlook by popular media. But again — we made this choice. Freely. For my husband, I believe it’s how he stays true to himself and his convictions.

I was once in a conversation with an old friend who explained he couldn’t continue speaking with me because I couldn’t possibly understand his point of view (insert: because my husband was in the military). I was gobsmacked. What? How does that make me incapable of carrying on a thoughtful discussion? I live for conversation. I over explain almost everything, and often think about exchanges long afterwards — sometimes, as in this case, for years. I’m a sponge. I absorb most everything … it takes a while to wring out thoughts and feelings, and retain those that are truly my own. Our life is spent in a particular service to our country. Although it’s certainly my husband’s career, it was a joint decision, as my own career path has narrowed as a result, and although tangential, I believe our family works to ensure our childrens’ freedom; and their children; and so on. We go by way of where we’re called.

In a landmark decision in 1919 casting a vote of dissention to defend freedom of speech (Abrams vs US/250 U.S. 616), Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote, “ that the best of truth is the power of the thought to get itself accepted in the competition of the market, and that truth is the only ground upon which their wishes safely can be carried out. That at any rate is the theory of our Constitution.”

Am I indoctrinated to view life in a certain way as a result of my husband’s career choice? I’d have to argue, “no.” In fact, my perspective has expanded by the experiences garnered. But please — let’s talk about it. We don’t have to agree. We’re free not to. After all, we, as a country, continue to fight and pay dearly for that right.

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