Being an American

I was thinking on my way home from the gym (remind me to tell you about lady who came in 20 minutes late and wasted another 5 minutes mucking with the peddle strap. Just peddle. Your foot won't fall out. We're stationary.)

What was I saying... Oh yeah, on the way home I was thinking about being in Australia sixteen years ago. I flew Down Under twice, February and May.

I loved the people and the country, but the thing I loved the most was when people would say to me, "You're an American, aren't you?"

I felt honored and proud, even tall when I said, "Yes." It was like being the cool kid! The same was true when I went to Spain, Venezuela, Ireland, and Mexico.

The pride was not about arrogance, but about marveling that I was able to say I'm a citizen of the greatest nation on earth. Sorta like being a Roman in Rome's heyday. Or Greece when she ruled the earth.

After 16 short years would it be the same? What with the war and all, and so much anti-Americanism.

No matter, I love my country. Still a great nation.