Coming to America

On the boats and on the planes
They're coming to America
Never looking back again
They're coming to America

We went to the park to watch fireworks last night. After much searching and comparison of sight-lines, the softness of the grass, proximity to street lights, and nearness of obnoxious revellers, we finally chose the perfect spot and settled in.

Did I say it was the perfect spot? Well it was, right until about 2 minutes before the fireworks started. Then the man next to us dug out his portable radio. The volume level wasn't horrible, but it was still a little intrusive and annoying, especially when he tuned the radio to an 80's rock station. I don't know about you, but I just can't hear "Some Like it Hot" by Powerstation enough times. I only heard it eight or nine thousand times prior to 1987, and I would like to get up to an even 10,000 before I die.

I found myself becoming more and more irate. Who was this person to impose his music upon me? Didn't he have any common courtesy?! Couldn't we just enjoy the fireworks with our families in reverent and patriotic awe without music? And why the heck wasn't he sharing his Doritos with me? But as the fireworks started, I noticed that the station began playing patriotic songs, almost in synch with each crash and boom of the display overhead. God Bless America. America the Beautiful. America by Neil Diamond. (I didn't say the songs were all good, just that they were patriotic, alright?)

So maybe this person's choice of music wasn't so bad after all. He was just a patriot, a lover of his county, trying to enhance his enjoyment of the beautiful spectacle. I watched my neighbor with new eyes, noticing that he seemed to be Latino. He would raise his cup occasionally to toast a particularly breathtaking display of pyrotechnics. He would sing aloud some of the lyrics to the songs in Spanish. I immediately began to feel guilty about my previous judging of this person. Here he was, possibly new to this country, glad for the chance to celebrate his joy at being in this wonderful land of opportunity. Who knows what hardships he had to endure just to get here, and I dared to begrudge him this opportunity? No way.

I sat back to enjoy the rest of the lightshow with a smile on my face, content with my place in the universe. There may have been a tear in my eye, or perhaps it was just a little dusty at the park that day. The fireworks came to a resounding conclusion followed by thousands of people applauding the show. My newfound Latino compatriot stood up, shut off his radio, and announced for everyone nearby to hear. "Well, that sucked!"

Welcome to America my friend. Welcome.

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