I have a confession to make: I don’t really get into most American holidays. For starters, I can never remember which one is which (Memorial Day? Labor Day?), and one that can be taken to the enth degree is Independence Day. There’s something very overt about the chest-thumping, flags waving proudly on the exterior of every home you pass. But I feel just the same way about Australia Day, too. Our American friends may not parade around with the Stars and Stripes as a cape like every second yobbo at home, but they have their own brand of overt patriotism.
I don’t begrudge anyone an opportunity to decorate their SUVs but overt patriotism is just not me.
What tugs at my heartstrings
What captures my imagination is the tradition, the smell of BBQs and sweet treats, the laughter of family and friends, the bunting, the beautiful strains of Morton Gould’s Amber Waves, seeing the old ladies at the club all decked out in their finest combination of red, white and blue. I get emotional about that.
And so I choose to ignore the parts I’m not so comfortable with, and just sit back and enjoy the parts that I do.
