According to those that maintain these records, George Washington was born on February 22, a long time ago, and when we travel through the area encompassing the original thirteen colonies, we find that he slept, away from home, as often as possible. For many years, Americans celebrated Washington’s Birthday on his birthday, kind of the way we celebrate our own birthdays.
Then came those with deep sensitivities, worrying about all the other presidents’ personal worth. Are those dear dead presidents feeling left out, unworthy of a birthday celebration, with cake, ice cream, hot dogs, baseball, and Chevrolet? Honest Abe had his day, February 12, but Martin Van Buren didn’t get special treatment. Neither did old Calvin C.
“Well, that’s just terrible,” said the sensitive ones. So, now, all of our calendars still reflect February 12 as Lincoln’s birthday, and February 22 as Washington’s, but now, we have the third Monday to celebrate Presidents’ Day, because as we all are imminently aware, the bounty of the nation rolls on the greased wheels of the retail market.
Thus, the three-day weekend, in which we do everything possible to celebrate the birthdays of each and every president. By spending money, of course. Don’t forget all those hot dogs and Chevrolets.
So, this leads us to a time of reflection, a time to ponder the other three-hundred-million of us whose birthdays are not celebrated by the masses. Where are the sensitive ones now? How horrible it must be for those three-hundred-million not to have their birthday recognized on calendar faces, not to be sung to, danced to, not to have billions of hot dogs eaten, and two Chevies purchased.
It’s time for a change, past time, if you really are a sensitive one. Therefore, I ask, ever so humbly, that we set aside a third Monday, I think April would be a good month for that, to celebrate Americans’ Day. We can, everyone of us, take the day off to reflect deeply, maybe even genuflect deeply, our contribution to the magnificence of America, and eat cake and hot dogs, go to a ballgame, and buy a Chevrolet.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn, member, Western Fictioneers
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