I grew up on Victoria Curve in Prior Lake, Minnesota, never too far from a neighbor’s kind smile and that “Minnesota niceness.” I remember the street sign right outside my house—there to remind us of where we lived.
I grew up in the suburbs; never too far from a Target, Walmart, and fast food restaurants. I remember riding in the car with my dad to the tune of “Rock and Roll” and seeing the street signs—there to remind us of where we lived.
I grew older and I started to realize the cost of seeing those street signs and living in the suburbs. Death and war is a part of my life now, as people get older and cancer whittles away their will to live; I am now old enough to appreciate my grandpa’s time in the military which gave him a lifelong “souvenir” he wishes he could return. But I always go back to that time living on Victoria Curve, pronounced Victoria Curb—and the street sign to remind us of where we lived.
I grew older still and watched as we moved away from Victoria Curve to another suburb— never too far from a Target, Walmart, and fast food restaurants. I now live in the tiny village of Dousman with the new pass time of “frog jumping” at the summer carnival and “Rock and Roll” rarely playing on the radio. There is a new street sign—there to remind us of where we lived.
As I grew older, I realized that we have to fight for our freedom or die trying. So many have died before me fighting for freedom, to end oppression or to keep a democracy in our beautiful country of America.
Patriotism, to me, means being able to pronounce Victoria Curve, Victoria Curb. It means having the chance to live in the suburbs. And finally, patriotism means having a street sign—always there to remind us of where we lived.