I Am America

I Am America By: Jessica Webb

I am America. I am the liberty bell that rung on July 8, 1776 with other church bells, where these bells ring you will also here me sing the red back hymnals with the robed choir in the little white chapel on the street corner. Here you will see every man, woman, and child gathering to hear the preacher give his early Sunday morning sermon. I am “Old Glory” the nation’s most patriotic symbol, I wave hello with bold stripes of red and white, my fifty stars stand out in unison. I whisper courage and freedom with my very presence. They raise me high in the air at every Fourth of July parade, senses of the backyard barbecues, candy filled streets, and pride in every citizen stream through my surroundings. I am the endless sea of possibilities, I branch lifestyles on a limb, job opening to job opening, penniless to famous, I am the Angelina Jolie and Tom Cruise of Dreams. I am the sound of a Babe Ruth swing and the music of a Rock-N-Roll king I am the female surgeon in the ER saving the one that overdosed. I am the one addicted to drugs and alcohol. I am the sad and dismantled look on the children’s faces whom have no real home and whose parents chose addiction over affection, I am the scars left from a deadly injection; I am the high that lets me escape the void. I am the little girl hiding behind a happy façade while trying to keep from an abusive alcoholic father. I am the poverty that scales the walls of every city, I am the broken home with only a single parent and three part-time jobs trying to make ends meet for my family, I am the secret that is kept hidden, offering a counterfeit image of outpouring wealth and health, I am the one with no college degree, in fact, I have not even a GED, dropped straight out of high school with no home, job, money, or security, and I am the woeful sight of dearth I am the murdered child of America, the Second Holocaust. I am the woman dependant on depression medicine because I cannot cope; cope with knowing that in my earlier days I chose to abort my baby. I am the one that thought abortion was my choice, and it was, my choice to kill, but I was told my child was not life, it was science. Now in my tears and self-hatred I pity the soul that dare to believe abortion is a mere decision rather the death of a precious child. I am the melting pot of nations, the African, German, British, and Native alike. I am the Mexican pledging allegiance, Prometo lealtad a la Bandera de los Estados Unidos de América y la república que defiende una nación bajo Dios indivisible con libertad y justicia para todos. I am every skin color, nationality, and language I am the never-ending lines in the store with the candy lanes and drink freezers, I am the Supercenter Wal-Mart and the local Village Pantry. I am the last minute Christmas shopper and the early Easter egg scavenger. I am every season, winter’s snow shovel, and spring’s shower. I am the fall’s breeze, and the clamoring of a Friday night football game. I am the stereotypical band nerd and the beautiful cheerleader, the wannabe, and the gangster.

I am the prep with the collared shirt and the snob who thinks the dream is mine by demand rather than privilege. I am hate, I am love, and I am envy, and charity, I am the very essence of pride, both the good kind and the kind that comes before a fall. I am who I make myself to be, I chose my life, and accept those ways with no force to be made a different way, I can chose better or worse, but in the end I am still America.