It is not unusual for a child to cry on its birthday.

It is not unusual for a child to cry on its birthday.

Somehow, for any number of reasons, the ego-centric child is stressed. The tension breaks. The child cries . . . in frustration . . . in despair . . . in anger . . . in unfulfilled expectations.

And in the grand epics of civilized peoples . . . America, the “We the People” America . . . we are still but a child.

We cry this day, on our birthday.

Our gift is broken.

Our expectations are shattered.

It would seem to a casual observer, that we now need to call this day the “Memorial of Independence Day” holiday.

There have been birthdays in the past, were the crying was uncontrollable sobbing. The fractious war between the states . . . the darkest moments of the repression of the unwanted . . .

And we cry again. And we wonder why. On our birthday. We can’t help but cry. Again.

There were statesmen once, to dry the tears of the crying.

Magnanimous people.

People with a sense of reasoned judgment that seemed to surpass the norms of humanity.

People who saw from a perspective of through the Course of Human Events. People who recognized foundational Truths that went even beyond being self-evident . . . went to defining the very essence of what an American Child could be.

Statesmen, surrogate for “We the People,” who crafted an identity of equality, of unalienable rights . . . the charge to accept life . . . to claim liberty . . . to pursue happiness.

Statesmen, surrogate for “We the People,” to form the construct of a more perfect Union, for the establishing Justice, insuring domestic Tranquility, providing for the common Defense, promoting the general Welfare, and securing the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and to our Posterity.

Statesmen, surrogate for “We the People,” that formed the precious treasure of our unique constitutional form of self-government.

But today, we cry, on our birthday.

And there are now no statesmen to dry the tears.

The statesmen have gone to partisan hacks.

The partisan hacks have gone to the demagogues of power.

The demagogues of power have rutted the essence of the more prefect Union. Justice is now politics. Domestic Tranquility is a simmering reddish-blue hate. The common defense is a unilateral crusade on the world’s minions. The general Welfare is for the fascist elite. The blessings of Liberty is the privilege to hold three jobs. Our Posterity is relegated into a bankrupt poverty.

And we cry, today, on our birthday.

We discover our birthday present is not what we dreamed it would be.

It has evolved, in some unintelligently designed grotesqueness, to an uncontrollable monster that makes a mockery of “We the People.” An imperial, presidential mockery, of “We the People.” A force unanswerable but to an imperial president’s “higher father.”

And we cry, today, on our birthday.

We cry that the demagogues of power, somehow, be harnessed, by the Consent of the Governed.

We cry that the partisan hacks be neutered in their destructive Ends.

We cry for statesmen to once again raise Justice above the politics, to ameliorate hate, to defend Defense, to foster Welfare, to enable Liberty, to value Posterity.

We cry, on this our birthday, because we are fraught with tension. We have expectations that are being dashed. We are frightened of the wake of the havoc headed for our Posterity.

But.

Yet.

It is not unusual for a child to laugh on its birthday.

Somehow, for any number of reasons, the ego-centric child can be truly happy. There is a sense of tension that stimulates. The child giggles. . . in joy . . . in delight . . . in play . . . in the fulfilling of expectations.

And in the grand epics of civilized peoples . . . America, the “We the People” America . . . we are still but a child.

And through our tears . . . we try to laugh. We can laugh. We will laugh. We do laugh.

And we WILL yet see another birthday.

The Refectory Manager