But don’t get it twisted. A brutha needs his rib tips.
As hard as it is to believe it, June’s already behind us. I spent last evening taking my Pride decorations down and hauling out my star-spangled stuff in my annual preparation for July 4th. We have an extended weekend to celebrate it this year. With the long haul we’ve all had over the last 15 or so months, and still-fresh memories of the summer of 2020 that really never was, it was great to be out and about, enjoying a typically hot Sacramento summer.
Decorating for Independence Day is a fairly new tradition for me. I spent the better part of my life to date never raising an American flag. I still remember passionately asking my second grade teacher, the voluptuous Miss Neal (that’s a story for another day!) whether she was certain about the year that the Declaration of Independence was signed.
It couldn’t have been 1776, I posited, as that would have meant that the forefathers who fought for their independence from England were simultaneously denying freedom to enslaved Africans. Looking back, I can see the pride on Miss Neal’s face as little MPC pieced that one together!
It would be more than thirty years before I felt enough pride in this country to fly an American flag outside of my home, as I did in November of 2008, after our country finally did Spike Lee’s right thing and elected an African American president. My father, having been born and raised in rural Mississippi in the 1930s and 40s, always insisted that this country, these “united” states, would never see that day. He missed that historic event by just a handful of years, having succumbed to cancer in 2002. To this day, I think of Dad whenever I see President Barack Obama speak, and I’ve never been happier to tell Dad, as I call his name and those of all who paved the way for me, that he was wrong about that.
So it was following that election, after watching Barack and Michelle stroll down Pennsylvania Avenue and into the White House, that I began flying a flag and getting a little more patriotic, doing so on Memorial Day, Non-Trump Inauguration Day, and other events when it seems warranted. So naturally, I whip out the flag et al in preparation of Independence Day.
But this year, I found myself a little ambivalent as I hoisted Old Glory.
That’s because this year, our country finally got around to acknowledging our country’s true “independence day,” as we added Juneteenth to the list of national holidays.
Lest you think that it’s another Kwanzaa (that’s another story for another day!), let me assure you that some of us have been celebrating Juneteenth for quite some time, now. Rest assured that those enslaved Africans in Galveston, Texas celebrated back in 1865, after they learned that they’d technically been freed two years before and that the south had lost what was then called The War Between The States.
As I watched the news coverage of the institution of Juneteenth as a national holiday a couple of weeks ago, with comments from President Obama’s true successor, President Joe Biden, I couldn’t help but think that Dad might have been roused from his grave by that breaking story. A day or two later, I attended a few Juneteenth celebrations, supported a few black-owned businesses, and hoped the day wouldn’t come when we’d have to endure a Juneteenth furniture sale.
As I hauled out the red, white, and blue decorations, I wondered whether our country might surprise Dad again and abolish Independence Day, the 4th of July, as a national holiday. After all, we weren’t all demanding our independence then, and wouldn’t be granted it for almost another 100 years. We were in bondage, and had been for almost 250 years.
Let’s truly let freedom ring by retiring the 4th of July, and celebrating our collective Independence Day a couple of weeks earlier on June 19th. It would still be the thick of the summer, so we wouldn’t have to give up the hot dogs, hamburgers, booze, pool parties, fireworks, or any of that.
‘Cause don’t get it twisted: a brutha needs his rib tips.
And maybe, while we’re at it, we could jettison “The Star Spangled Banner” as our national anthem. Yes, Whitney Houston sang the hell out of it back in the day, but maybe it’s time to let that one go, too. It’s a hard song to see, and for me, the glorification of “bombs bursting in air” has never really worked for me.
I even have a worthy successor that that antiquated little ditty: “Happy” by Pharrell. We could even start sporting a star spangled hat, improving on his! The song was good enough for Rep. John Lewis, so it’s good enough for me.
“It might sound crazy what I’m about to say…”
Happy Independence Day!
Michael's Mind's Eye 