Then he will turn and swallow it, he thought. He did not say that because he knew that if you said a good thing it might not happen. He knew what a huge fish this was and he thought of him moving away in the darkness with the tuna held crosswise in his mouth. At that moment he felt him stop moving but the weight was still there. Then the weight increased and he gave more line. He tightened the pressure of his thumb and finger for a moment and the weight increased and was going straight down.
"He's taken it," he said. "Now I'll let him eat it well."
I understand Santiago's reasoning here. As a matter of fact, I hold the same belief. When I think that something positive should or will happen, I avoid actually putting breath and words to that thing. It's the kiss of death. It almost guarantees epic failure. That's why most authors are pretty superstitious regarding talking about their current writing projects.
Today, my hometown celebrated Independence Day with a parade, community picnic, and fireworks at dusk. This morning, I watched the parade with people I love--family members who make me laugh and feel blessed. This evening, I sat on a grassy hillside, listened to some bad bands, ate snow cones and kettle corn, and enjoyed the rockets red glare. It was sort of a perfect day.
Yet, as I said last night, this Independence Day feels different to me. Less free. Usually, I think of this holiday as a time that unites citizens of the United States, regardless of politics. I know that this country has been flawed since its inception. Stolen from Indigenous peoples. Built on the backs of slaves. Ruled by white male privilege. Freedom has been relative in this land since that little document penned by Thomas Jefferson was signed.
The United States has been an experiment since its inception. Lately, that experiment has been corrupted. Do I believe that I'm witnessing the downfall of my country? At times, yes. Today, however, seeing everyone gathered to celebrate the signing of a document that most citizens of this country have never even fully read, I can still feel a sense of hope for better and kinder times.
I'm not going to put that hope into specific words. I am not Thomas Jefferson, and I'm not about to turn this post into some kind of Declaration of Hope for my flawed homeland. That would be an enterprise destined to fail. You see, until everyone starts recognizing those flaws and tries to fix them, we won't ever be truly united. We'll remain doomed to an existence much like our present time, where racism and homophobia and xenophobia and misogyny infest all parts of society and government.
But I do have hope for my country this Independence Day weekend. We can be better. I know this. We've been trying to be better for almost 250 years now. Let freedom ring this July 4th for everyone. For my daughter, who now has to refight battles that were won in the Supreme Court over 50 years ago. For my son, who may have to join in his own Stonewall riot. For everyone who isn't male and white and Christian.
Hope belongs to everyone. So does independence.
There's a verse in the song "America the Beautiful" that goes like this: "America! America! God mend thine every flaw!"
That's Saint Marty's refrain tonight.
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