How America used to be....

Warning: This is a politically charged post.

Let me just say that upfront. This isn't meant to be partisan, but I know some will take it that way. That’s not my intention. What I’m trying to do here is remind myself of who I am as an American—and what that’s supposed to mean. So much is changing, and it’s happening fast. The lines blur. This is me trying to hold onto what I know to be true, or at least what I thought was true.

I was born in Seattle to parents who were also born in Seattle. I was adopted and raised by a Washington-born father and a Minnesota-born mother—both white. I say that up front because I want to shut down any “anchor baby” or “they must’ve been immigrants” assumptions. My birth parents were third-generation Irish-American. My adoptive father was a third-generation Englishman. My mother was third-generation German-Norwegian-American.

I grew up in a Lutheran home, taught that Jesus Christ was the Son of God and that the Ten Commandments were a guide to life. I was raised with love. No yelling, no hitting. We lived a relatively privileged life—though I wouldn’t realize just how privileged until I was much older. At one point, my dad uprooted us to Papua New Guinea where he worked for the German Lutheran Church as Director of Finance at Lutheran Shipping.

My childhood memories are mostly warm and joyful. Ski trips in the mountains. Holidays and birthdays spent with family. My mom baked all our birthday cakes—whether we were in the U.S. or PNG. My dad taught me how to drive. I even remember the time I nearly smoked us out of the house trying to fry sliced potatoes on high heat because I didn’t know better. My mom laughed, and my siblings teased me for being a little clueless. It’s one of my favorite memories.

We went to church every Sunday. I had friends there. I went through confirmation classes where our pastor encouraged us to learn about other religions—so we could honestly confirm our faith, not just inherit it blindly.

There were hard times too. I remember coming back from PNG and going to high school in the U.S., suddenly witnessing racism I had never seen before. I remember my dad struggling to find work in the mid-80s. Who wanted to hire a 50-something accountant? I remember my mom battling breast cancer—and winning—only to learn she was now uninsurable. I remember coming home one day to see my parents packing the house because they were giving the keys back to the bank. Too far behind on the mortgage. I remember my dad telling me they were heading back overseas to work with Lutheran Shipping because they couldn’t survive in the U.S.—not with my mom’s health history and his age making work nearly impossible.

Both of my sets of parents passed away before 2016. For that, I’m grateful in a strange, bittersweet way. They were proud Americans. They raised me to be proud, too. But they wouldn’t have survived the chaos that’s followed. The dismantling of programs meant to help the poor, the sick, the vulnerable—it would’ve broken their hearts.

I still hear my mom quoting Matthew 25:40: “As you have done unto the least of these, you have done unto me.” She taught me that meant we should treat others the way we would treat Jesus himself—with kindness, compassion, and above all, love. She wouldn’t understand the hateful rhetoric we see today. It would make her cry. My dad would’ve been furious watching people lead for their own gain, while pretending to serve. And both of them would have been disgusted by the so-called Evangelical “Christians” who back cruelty and then pat themselves on the back for it.

I miss them every day. I miss being able to call them. But I’m also glad they didn’t live to see what this country has become.

So what has it become?

Honestly? It feels like the United States of Me and F** You.* No one thinks about their neighbors. We all stay in our chosen echo chambers—TV, Instagram, Facebook—and dig in. We find the version of the truth we like and cling to it. Voter turnout is pathetic, and too many people fall for the lies of celebrity politicians (and I use the word celebrityloosely).

Even when we tried to warn you—when we said, “Hey, listen, he’s saying one thing to your face but he’s published documents outlining what he’s actually planning to do”—you didn’t believe us. (Yes, Project 2025 is real.) Instead, you called us names: liberals, libtards, bleeding hearts... Democrats. And now, some of you are saying, “We didn’t know!” But you did know. You just didn’t want to believe it. You chose the version of truth that fit your worldview.

So please, don’t act surprised now. It’s disingenuous.

If you really want to make a difference, vote for change. Help someone who can’t get to the polls. Do something. But I digress...

I never understood the MAGA movement. To me, America was already great. Imperfect, yes. Always changing, sometimes painfully. But still great. A place that stood with open arms, like it says on the Statue of Liberty:

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

It is going to be hard

It is going to take time, and it is not going to be easy but we need to get our freedom back. We need freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom of choice......I will not have these things forced on me. 

That is what America is to me....Freedom to speak or not, to worship or not, freedom to make my own choices.

That’s the America I believe in. That’s the America I was raised to love.

And I won’t stop believing we can be that place again—if we want it badly enough to fight for it.