There is an apocryphal story in our family, a tale that touches on one of the most core Voboril values, a principle that was ingrained early and forgotten at one’s own peril. Since this story’s lesson required me to miss a pow day, it remains particularly poignant in my life and especially funny to my father and brother, who were graced with the snowy largesse at my expense. While the details of the misadventure are comical and instructive, it is the resulting moral that is the most important. Suffice it to say that I was duped into skiing with a self-proclaimed expert who turned out to be significantly less talented than advertised. Since that fated day, I am especially wary of anyone claiming their prowess, no matter the subject of alleged expertise.
Half of our clan are verbose. But, despite my mother’s and my penchant for gabbing, we still follow the example set early by our forebears and personified by my father: let your feats do the talking. He and his cohort of ski jumping madmen were shockingly humble even though they were otherworldly not only on skis, but in any other number of physical endeavors, not to mention as family and business men. They had a healthy competitive streak, but it was anathema to boast, either internally or externally. And, of course, it would be extremely tempting to pepper suburban cocktail party conversation with charged recitations of crazy exploits. Pops was never one to stoop to that, even when a buffoon would try to impress the crowd with stories of skiing black diamonds or somesuch, when Pops knew that the dude could barely snowplow.
Pops’ example is echoed in other people whom I admire: all of the best skiers, lawyers, fathers, chefs, and writers that I know would rather bury themselves alive than talk about their skills. When someone tells me that they are just OK at biking, I ready myself for a sufferfest, because I know it is likely that they are verbally sandbagging. Even in a marketing and media landscape that requires self-aggrandizement, these folks somehow figure out a way to make their insane undertakings seem chill. Yes, one could make the argument that purposeful underselling is its own form of bragging, but I am knowingly choosing to see the sanguine intent in these Instagram posts and press releases.
With this ethos as background, it is little wonder that I get irked at the very idea of modern patriotism. If one’s country is so spectacular, that point would be self-evident and would not have to be draped in massive flags, worn on lapels, or blabbed about on news programs. America seems to suffer from an adolescent insecurity, an immaturity that it attempts to cover with propaganda, met in kind by our Chinese and Russian supposed rivals, a dangerous game run by emotional teenagers afraid of being revealed as such. What adults know is that this life is not a competition, that rational thought and cooperation are the secret to happiness, not a violent skirmish for hegemony.
I am extremely proud to be an American, have seen enough of this world to truly appreciate the freedom that I have to live my life as I choose, am continually in awe of the geographical blessings of this continent, crush on the great women and men who have led this country through brutal times. But I also know that we have cancerous flaws that have been growing since the inception of our nation, disgusting chapters of human degradation that cannot be erased by ill-fated attempts to gloss them over by controlling curriculum.
A textbook that contains only the alleged glories of this country, that claims greatness, that ignores whole swaths of despicable deaths is akin to the idiot at the bar talking about all the cliffs he dropped when he knows that he barely made it down the bunny hill. Of course, the blind patriot is infinite orders of magnitude more terrifying, destructive, and disrespectful. It is all the more dire because this intentionally incomplete teaching of history only begets a repeat thereof. America made certain limited strides but is again on the brink of continued institutionalized racism, sexism, homophobia, and the litany of ills that a disturbing amount of folks appear to embrace.
We will finally be a true beacon on the hill when we have to broadcast nothing, when our benevolence is inherently known, when patriotism can be effective simply by existing, when we lead by example and not by blathering and babbling. Until such time, I will be as suspicious of an ardent patriot as I am of a person who claims to be a ripper.