Eleven score and ten years ago today, Thomas Jefferson presented his first draft of the Declaration of Independence. After two days to remove all that pesky stuff about the evils of slavery, they adopted it, translated it into all the languages spoken in the colonies, and sent it out so that everyone could know.

I don’t feel patriotic just seeing waving flags and kids in uniform and eagles soaring. When I feel patriotic is when I walk into a restaurant owned by Pakistani immigrants who sell me a pizza (invented in Italy but adapted for American tastebuds) or a hamburger (named after a city in Germany) before I get into my Japanese car. I feel patriotic when I see the scene in Something New where young African-American men lead a waltz, then segue comfortably into a step routine. I feel a surge of patriotism when I think of all the musical styles that are syncretic, but distinctly American: country, rock, blues, jazz, hip hop, rap. I feel patriotic when I see that West Point invited an anarchist like Noam Chomsky to speak to a class on just war theory, then the students politely ask questions and applaud at the end. It’s a comfort to know that no matter how far we may stray from our ideals, a gifted linguist like Chomsky will never be disappeared. I feel my patriotism when I see the things invented by American ingenuity: jeans (which I still insist are work clothes, just as they were intended), planes, telephones, light bulbs, sewing machines, computers, etc. (And a special nod to artificial hearts and the polio vaccine.) My patriotism comes to the fore when I’m in a group and we comfortably move between discussions of movies and fashions to politics and philosophy and back and forth… because nobody’s going to arrest us for it. I love that I can live in an apartment that has gargoyles (French), a dreamcatcher (aboriginal American), Japanese weaponry, Spanish literature alongside English literature (sometimes translated from German), and foods originally from every corner of the earth. I love that I can learn the ballroom dance of Europe and Latin America as well as the distinctly American country line dance. I love that I don’t even know the historical origins of half the things I own because we blend cultures so readily. I love that I can say or write whatever I please - usually in a language combing several Germanic languages with influences from Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, and Algonquin, but sometimes in a language based upon Latin with French, English, Arabic, Visigoth, and Nahuatl influences - and my options are only rarely limited. So if I criticize you sometimes, Lady Liberty, know that it’s only because I love you and I want to help you be even better. But that said, this weekend, let’s just concentrate on the positive, on why we love you so much.

P.S. Also, happy birthday to Canada yesterday. You guys are pretty cool, too.