Palliativity 148: Made in America

I’m proud of my family’s history and I’m quick to judge my own country’s past actions.

Let me be clear: I am not anti-American.

I am not a protestor nor do I claim to fight the system and the powers that be.

I’m just here to tell a story.

Everytime I am at a sporting event, the National Anthem still gives me pause. The chills and shakes hit me as I think about all the lives that were sacrificed to keep that flag held high; the faces of all the Nisei I’ve interviewed, the disabled veterans I teach judo to, the photo of my father’s grandparents’ farm in California before Pearl Harbor changed everything…

My mother’s family fled Prague before the Cossack’s invaded in 1820. In 1905, my father’s grandpa escaped conscription before Japan went to war with Russia. Later, my great-grandmother left Hiroshima to come to America as a picture-bride.

I could title my family memoirs
Fleeing from Russia with Love.

I am proud to be an American at a time when blind-patriotism is the only kind anyone wants to talk about. Both sides of my family fought for this flag, putting their lives on the line from the Civil War all the way up to the present. We’ve more than payed for our debts to freedom.

I am the Rising Sun. I am David’s Star. This is a an American tale.

This is my country, home of the Brave.

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