I’m just gonna say it: if you don’t feel even the slightest bit patriotic while watching the Fourth of July scene in “The Sandlot”, you’re probably dead inside.
How could you not be moved by the explosion of hypnotic fireworks that illuminate the field like stadium lights? The boys stop the game to stare in amazement at the sky above them and Ray Charles soulfully croons “America the Beautiful.” It’s hard to express my love for this country in words, but watch this scene and you’ll know exactly how I feel.
I love America.
My heart swells when I hear “The Star-Spangled Banner”, USA is my absolute favorite game-day theme and if I had it my way, we would all be reciting the “Pledge of Allegiance” in the morning just like we did in elementary school.
My love for this country doesn’t stem from my fondness for apple pie or Super Bowl commercials. My grandfather passed down his undying passion for the U.S. to my father, who passed it down to me like a dominant, genetic trait with no chance of ever being repressed.
My grandfather grew up in the small, eastern European country of Latvia. From a young age, tales of the “wild, wild west” ignited his dream to one day live in America. At 20-years-old, he was working abroad as a sailor on a British ship when World War II broke out. Russia annexed and exiled nearly half of Latvia’s population, leaving my grandfather devastated without a home or family to return to.
He determined his only option was to make a new life for himself in the U.S. when his ship docked in New York in 1940. However, because he was serving in the British Navy, he couldn’t simply leave the ship.
So he poisoned himself.
With a tin of sardines that had been left in the sun on the deck of the ship for a week he gave himself food poisoning and secured a sure way off the ship and into a New York hospital. His ship had already left the states by the time he had recovered, allowing him to finally obtain his visa.
That’s is where my grandfather’s new life began.
He found a job in New York that put his extensive knowledge of sailing to good use and enrolled in night classes to further his education. Soon he was running his own company and supporting his wife and two children.
My dad told me my grandpa’s story at a young age and each year I live in this country it becomes more and more meaningful. To me, his story epitomizes the American dream and shows exactly why the U.S. is such a “fabulous” — as he always put it — opportunity.
And I would have to agree.
America doesn’t guarantee greatness, but it guarantees a chance. Each person who enters the U.S. has the opportunity to create, to innovate and to grow. My grandpa was a Latvian immigrant, with no family, no home and no money who still made something of himself. If that doesn’t show that anyone can make it in America, I don’t know what does.
I’ve seen that scene from “Newsroom” where the news anchor explains why America is not the greatest country in the world, I’ve explored the Tumblr page titled “Why America Sucks” and I’ve read countless tweets about gross things that happen #onlyinAmerica.
None of those change the way I feel about this country. Even as an American-born citizen I still feel blessed to have the freedoms that so many countries deny their people. It doesn’t take moving to the U.S. from another country to appreciate freedom of speech or the right to vote. Remembering my grandpa’s journey, I try not to take these things, among others, for granted and am constantly inspired to work just as hard as him.
My love for America runs blood deep and nothing could ever take away what this country did for my grandpa and what it continues to do for me.
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