WHAT AMERICA MEANS TO ME: MY ESSAY
I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on my life as an American. For one, I've been alive a long time and for another, much reflection has come from the thousands of miles I have driven while criss-crossing the United States.
Scenes from my life come to me on those drives: I'm young, maybe 12 or 13, and I’m standing in an empty intersection in my hometown. There is a blinking light above me, it has always been there, where Highway 60 crosses Highway 55. My arms are outstretched and I’m spinning in circles. It is windy, hot and dry. I see this town, once the Bean Capitol of the world, now just a shell of its former self. I see a small, old car full of women pass. They are sisters, we are distantly related, and they are laughing as they always are.
I see a troubled man stumbling down the street, I know he beats his wife and kids, but I don't reflect on it past the fact that he is stumbling along.
My worldview, without internet or another town within 40 miles, is limited to this tiny slice of life that I accept without question, this is how life is. Our rental house is run down, my mother lives in a dreamworld, and I try to stay out of the way to get to 18 in one piece. I don’t know why or how, but I know, without any doubt whatsoever, that I am going to go out into the world and live a big life. Somehow I have already realized that if I work hard, I can do anything. I develop a single-mindedness at an early age that ends up serving me amazingly well -- and very poorly at the same time. I keep spinning and can see that each road of that intersection leads to a vast wide open.
I blink and I’m in college working several jobs. I’m swinging from a precarious makeshift seat working spotlight as an onsite roadie at the PanAmerican Center with Eddie Van Halen below, guitar blaring and even though I'm terrified, I pinch myself, hardly beleiving that "little me" is actually doing this.
I blink again and I’m serving pizza, working for a kind man who stood up for and protected me. Years later I learn he is in prison, he had been part of a huge cartel the whole time. I’m shocked and devesatated, but still wish I had known, so I could have gone to court to speak to his character.
I blink again and an Indian valet in the parking garage of the Omni Hotel is telling me to move my car, he says my big-big boss is behind me. I've just arrived for my new job in Atlanta. I turn and see that Ted Turner is waiting in his Taurus for me to move my car.
I blink and I’m working on the executive floor and an amazingly gentle soul, Hank Aaron, is checking out some donuts, asking me which is my favorite in the break room.
I blink and I’m escorting Rosa Parks from her hotel room to the Trumpet Awards for which I am a Volunteer Chair. She says she forgot her purse and another woman is helping her rummage around the room looking for it.
I blink and I’m moderating a chat with President Hugo Chavez taking questions from the general public on this new platform called the World Wide Web.
I blink again, I’m pregnant and it is my last day at work. My co-workers and I are in the bar downstairs, I’m making a farewell speech and Ted walks in. I tell the group that although he doesn't know it, Ted Turner was there to greet me on my first day and is bidding me farewell on my way out.
I blink and I’ve been a business owner for years. I’ve dragged my girls around with me to classes I was teaching and festivals I was hosting. They see me on conference calls while I’m feeding their baby sister and they see me directing people running in every direction at events.
I blink and my girls are grown or nearly grown, they are thriving and hard working.
The only thing they know is that mom has always had a million ideas, and they always have to volunteer to help because mom is constantly chasing something.
And they are along for the ride.
And all I know is that I’ve had the opportunity to chase my dreams - with the only thing standing in my way being the number of hours in the day.
I'm still in that hot, dry, windy intersection, peering down those roads around me, deciding which road I'm going to take.
The most important thing I know is that through the grace of God, I was born in a free country called America.
And what America means to me is that I must keep moving forward, because I can.