July 4th Reflections

On July 4, 1776, the Second Continental Congress adopted the Declaration of Independence, declaring the 13 colonies free from British rule. Though the Revolutionary War would carry on for seven more years, we mark this date as the birth of the United States. Next year will be the 250th anniversary.

I want to believe we’re still a nation worth celebrating.

Lately, though, it feels like we’ve taken more than a few steps backwards since January 20, 2025. We've distanced ourselves from longtime allies while cozying up to authoritarian leaders. Programs like USAID, public broadcasting, and Voice of America have been cut, while $45 billion has been earmarked for immigration detention—more than five times the current budget. That money covers everything from expanding ICE facilities to hiring more personnel and transporting detainees. If the estimates are correct, we could see detention capacity rise to at least 116,000 beds.

This doesn’t look like the America I grew up in.

It feels like we’re being reshaped to fit the worldview of a narrow group of Americans—people like Stephen Miller—who seem to believe this country was always meant to serve and be run by white men. It’s hard not to feel that these policies aren’t just about immigration. They seem designed to instill fear, even among those of us who were born and raised here.

And yet, I hope I’m wrong. Truly. I’ve never wanted to be so wrong about something in my life.

This morning, we spent the Fourth in a more hopeful way—with Caleb and Charlotte, our two oldest grandchildren, at Color City Pottery. We painted for hours. Joe didn’t paint—he appointed himself our technical supervisor, which mainly consisted of watching us and sneaking in a nap or two.

Caleb and his alligator!

Charlotte and Grandma Beth working on their pieces.

My turtle!

Grandpa Joe working on a final paint coat for Caleb's alligator.

Charlotte's first piece - she loves cats.

Charlotte's second piece - she said his name is Orange Fox.

Back in the early 70s, when Joe was in college, he took a pottery class. He liked making the pieces, but not painting them. A group of women in their sixties would have him throw the pots, and they’d take over from there. Today he didn’t make anything, but he helped Caleb put a third coat of underglaze on a bright green alligator. I’ll post pictures once we get the finished pieces back in two weeks.

After painting, we stopped at Applebee’s for a late lunch before dropping the kids back home.

It wasn’t a flashy celebration. But it was a good one. And maybe that’s what I’m holding onto today—the small, steady things that still feel like America to me.