What it really means to be a proud American.

After a month now, true patriotism has really sunk in. It’s like being Catholic, once a Catholic, always a Catholic. I might belong to Unity church, but deep down, I’m still a Catholic. Especially at Christmas, I want to smell those incense that bugged me as a kid, I want to hear the old-fashioned Christmas carols sung by a large choir, and I want to be surrounded by Catholicism.

After 3 wonderful days in Lyon with friends from the US, it really made me proud of my country. I always knew the USA was vast and huge. It has its problems, which always got to me, just as any country has its problems. After sharing our family stories, getting to speak English for 3 days, and talking about what cities we wanted to still see in the US. I was a bit nostalgic realizing what a grand, gorgeous country I come from.

I simply will never be the type that screams and fist pumps, “USA! USA! USA!” nor will I ever have a bumper sticker that reads, “God Bless the USA!” or have an oversized ball cap with an American flag and cowboy boots. But my patriotism is within. It’s true and deep in my heart and I have never been more proud to be American.

I remember for years and years when the French asked me, “Where are you from?”, I’d answer, “Canada” because they were so against Bush (whether I was or not), if I didn’t say it then I remember the looks I’d get and the under breath comments. It’s kind of like people who have lots of money, they NEVER discuss it or flaunt it. They are classy. That is how I feel about my country. I don’t flaunt it or talk nonstop about it. I keep that love deep within me and now when they ask me, “Where are you from?” I smile slightly and with the utmost pride, I respond, “I’m from the USA.”

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