Charles Cooke of National Review Online expresses his love for his adopted country.
When asked to express what I feel about America, I am reminded of hungry parents at a kids’ birthday party when they are told that they, too, can have some pizza. What I want to do is punch the air and shout, “Yes!” What I am supposed to do — in mixed company, at least — is sidle up to the table and act as if I could take it or leave it. Showing untrammeled appreciation for anything, you see, is frowned on these days. It is de rigueur to be detached.
Well, to hell with all that. I’m going to jump around and shout my appreciation.
I love this country. I think that it is, hands down, the greatest country in the world and, hands down, the greatest country that there has ever been in the world. I love its people. I love its culture. It love its geography. I love its constitutional order. I love its food. …
… For some reason, I have always loved these things. Since I was a little kid, there was something about the Statue of Liberty and the Golden Gate Bridge and the Mojave Desert that appealed to me simply because they were American. As far as I can recall, I have for my entire life wanted to be a part of it.
And now I am.
But something funny happens to you on the way to becoming a citizen: You suddenly become aware that it could all go away. At a remove, America seems impregnable. Up close, you see the fissures. Up close, you realize that it needs to be actively sustained — that it has always been actively sustained. As an immigrant, this fills me with gratitude. All Americans owe a great debt to those who built this remarkable world, but immigrants owe the greatest debt of all.
