CellAbrasion

cellabrasion
"Nobody can credibly critique another's celebration."

Nobody can credibly critique another's celebration. Each to their own. Some only find satisfaction with a big brass band; others, a quiet beer. Cheer's in the ear of the one who's cheering, never the one's who's jeering. Your hip-hop sounds like noise to me. So much the worse for me. Holidays bring the need for genuine tolerance. Some just seem to need to celebrate by disrupting their neighbor's tranquility. Accusing someone of making war on Christmas only further fuels the presumed conflict into perhaps a genuine one.

Some say the world will end with a firecracker, others, with an ice chest overfilled with beer.
Seating some abstinent someone in the smoking section could suffice. A misplaced peanut could, no fooling, kill a guest. The quest for pleasing middle ground seems misguided. Civility is now touted as a tool of privileged oppression. We inhabit a culture cohered by extremes. Holidays are more tests of tolerance than expressions of solidarity. The price of diversity might be simple annoyance.

Dogs despise The 4th of July. I'm right beside them. I'm fine with even the more extreme forms of revelry, though I won't participate. I can watch a parade, even one missing a big brass band, without losing patience. I can fly a flag, though I might display it upside down to register my distress. I'm an absolute sucker for John Philip Sousa marches. More overt demonstrations of the ever elusive and undefined 'patriotism' confuse me. A modest BBQ couldn't hurt. I'm the guy who's hopefully home in bed before the fireworks begin. I think our heritage poorly defined by bombs bursting in air, that we should show penitence for every shot ever fired, and pray for peace on The Fourth, demonstrating our democracy as well as our decency. Almost nobody else agrees with me.

I'm okay with that. I'd rather spend the evening in quiet contemplation of the marvel that I might manage to spend the night in quiet contemplation. In the far distance, I hear gunfire and cannonades, pop-pops on the evening wind. I've always wondered what it must be like to march in jodhpurs. I reflect on my hearing before the local draft board where I played my part in preserving our much-touted freedoms by exercising one of my own and demonstrating to some sworn officials what freedom looks like when it's genuinely ringing. I celebrate my 4th by myself, considering the grave cost and onerous responsibilities I purchased when I exercised my freedom to not carry a weapon in defense of freedom. Sure, I'll feel annoyed when someone spouts off supporting retaining Confederate monuments to "our history," and wonder how he'd feel to find a monument to Timothy McVeigh in his town square, but hey, nobody can ever credibly critique another's celebration.

©2018 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved









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