Blind Love

Your wife is the most beautiful woman in the world.  Your son is a combination of Einstein, Pele, Yo Yo Ma, and Bono.  Your hometown team is always on the verge of the Super Bowl.  So, naturally, your country is number one too.  It is a beacon of freedom.  It is all powerful and all desired.  How could it be any other way?  How could it be … except, of course, it is.  More than forty countries have lower infant mortality rates than the United States.  More than twenty five countries have lower homicide rates.  The US ranks in the low twenties in life expectancy.  The United States gets an “average” ranking from the OECD in terms of education.  We aren’t tops in literacy.  We are fifth in the use of the death penalty, behind only Yemen, North Korea, Iran, and China.  The bottom line … we aren’t number one.  The fact that I recognize this doesn’t mean I hate the United States.  My kid is not going to be Michael Jordan … he’s three and I’m already fairly sure of that.  That doesn’t mean I love him any less.  I will be a Detroit Lions fan until the day I die, but I have never once thought they were on the verge of winning the Super Bowl.  Recognizing that the United States doesn’t get everything right, or lately much at all, doesn’t mean I don’t love the place.  It just means I see it for what it is … and love what it is.  That’s more important when it comes to countries and children than it is football teams … because while there isn’t much I can do to make the Lions better I can help my children to succeed (although there is probably little I can do to help my son snag an NBA contract) and I can help solve the problems facing my country.  Before I can help my country, or my children for that matter, I have to be able to admit that something is wrong.  That doesn’t mean I don’t love my country.  On the contrary, it probably helps to prove it.