What priorities do the red stripes and blue stars really represent?

What priorities do the red stripes and blue stars really represent?

On a lonely winter night we go out for coffee. “How was your day” emerges into “Did you pay the mortgage,” and finally after all the routine mundane questions are spent we exchange them for dreams of summer, retirement, and travel dreams. “Where could we go?” “We could see what people do in the farthest possible place from here!” “When we retire, we could live in some rain forest in Costa Rica!” “Or we could own an amazing community school in a village in India!” The dull winter scene outside seems brighter with our mirage of dreams.

Why let the dreams float away with the clouds? We capture them like a child capturing bubbles with a net. And we do it with one single click of the computer mouse. Just like that we buy plane tickets and our dream becomes a reality.

Suddenly in June all the “Mrs. Cavanagh, is the answer to 4 times 5 twenty?” and “Mrs. Cavanagh, can I have a band-aid?” “Mrs. Cavanagh, he called me stupid!” “He tattle-tailed!” all go on summer vacation. Students pack up their books, brains, and back packs. I go home to pack, un-pack, pack again, and double check, oops, and pack yet again. I discover that packing for a cycling trip takes precise packing since everything has to fit into two small cycling side compartments.

“Did you remember to pack the extra inner-tubes?” “How many cycling shorts did you pack?”

“Uh… I don’t remember! I better un-pack just once more and double check!”

“What about the air-pump!”

Just as I am about to fasten the cycling compartment the final time, I toss in my pair of red striped and blue stared socks. I am a proud American citizen, a community member, and a proud teacher of future American representatives. I will cycle though countries and represent the kindness and openness of an American citizen and proudly wear my bright red, white, and blue socks J

…..A day of biking…

The sun bakes my body like a cake and my sweat creates a layer of sticky frosting. My shirt clings to me uncomfortably like plastic saran wrap. I thrust my body forward, one peddle at a time, one mile at a time.

Even in the course of a couple of miles, we stop and stop again to guzzle water. We even tie a five liter water bottle to the back of the bicycle. We go through over ten liters of water in one day! The first fifty miles of the trip are beautiful--narrow roads holding hands with bridges. Along the sides of the road, there is rice laid out to dry. While on Michigan backroads, we usually find peace and quiet on the rolling hills, here in Thailand we are ALWAYS surrounded by the zoom of motorcycles. We pass nearly all of the local bicyclers riding older three speed bikes. Kids yell, "Hello!" All day, we are greeted with Hello, hello, HELLO! We eagerly yell back and people respond with a shy laughter. That is pretty much the extent of my Thai communication skills-- zero-- we rely on their one word of English and end up with a two word pleasant conversation :)

Then I am taken by surprise. “Hello!” followed by “You biking..very good!” A man on a bicycle rides beside me and beams a welcoming smile.

“Hello!” I return his smile pleasantly.

“You must stop. I invite you for lunch. I welcome bicycler to my country. I must buy to you lunch!”

I am touched by his kindness. My legs welcome the stop as we pull into an open café on the side of the road.

“Bicycler always hungry. You must eat the rice and all you want. No problem. I buy for you.”

“Thank you so much. You are very kind.”

“I guess you are from Holland. Many biker are from Holland. Where are you from?” he asks.

“I am from the United States of America,” I reply proudly.

His smile freezes momentarily as he replies, “Oh well, Bicycler very good. American people very good, but American government very bad.”

“Oh ok.” I don’t know how to reply. Thank you didn’t seem appropriate. I take a bite of rice and sort of smile sheepishly.

“Yeah, you biker strong, but American government like the war. Why the American government like to fight so much?”

I chew on my rice to give me an extra minute to think and then, “You know, I really don’t know the real reasons for the war.”

I shake his hand and thank him over and over for his kindness in reaching out to us as foreigners. He leaves me chewing on his comment for the remainder of our bike ride-- American government bad… American government like war… I am startled that people so far away from my land are so aware of our political situation.

It has been a long day of cycling over seventy miles. I am so relieved to check into a humble guest house, shower off all the iced sweaty cake feeling and become “American girl” once again. We find ourselves relaxing in the guest house lobby in the evening. I sip on a coffee with condensed milk (in South East Asia it is custom to use condensed milk rather than creamer). I enjoy the company of the fellow travelers. “Where are you from?” I ask an older man sitting on the chair beside me.

“From Spain. Where abouts are you from?”

“The united States,” I reply proudly.

“Oh yeah? We are counting down the days until Bush is out of office!” I am expecting a question regarding our travel itinerary but quickly after the short greeting I am connected to the negativity of my government.

“Have you ever traveled to the U.S?” I ask.

“Oh yes! I studied once in California and it was really beautiful and I really enjoyed it.” He replies. “I just never really appreciated Spain’s health care until my experience in the United States. You must really worry about getting sick without public healthcare.”

“Well, yeah, I guess. But we have insurance and stuff,” I reply.

“I learned from people in the U.S. that if you get really sick, they can charge you personally. I feel safer in Spain knowing that no matter what happens to my health I will always be taken care of and I will be ok financially.”

Safer in Spain?! His words sting. I always thought America was the safest place in the world. The most advanced and suddenly my pride is challenged.

“Where are you from?” I turn to the lady sitting to my right.

“Germany. Nice to meet you.” She kindly shakes my hand and asks me, “And where are you from?”

“I am from the U.S.” I reply warmly.

“Oh wow! Is it true that gas there is only four dollars a gallon?”

“Only?” I think to myself. We’ve been watching in terror for the past four months as gas prices skyrocketed to an astonishing price of four dollars a month and the German girl said only. Not quite sure how to respond, I reply, “Yeah, uh, gas is four dollars a gallon now.”

“Wow that is amazing, ”She replies,“ In Germany gas is nine dollars a gallon!”

“WOW!” I reply astonished, “We think it is really expensive at four dollars a gallon!”

“I hear that America uses 25 percent of the world’s energy sources,” she states, “Are people starting to use more energy efficient cars there?”

I find myself taking a deep long sip of my coffee while flashes of sport utility vehicles that I saw gliding down the highway haunt my mind. “Uh, yeah. We do have the Toyota Prius, but not too many people can afford them.”

“Oh, in Germany many people are beginning to drive inexpensive diesel cars that get 50 miles to that gallon.”

“Well, I am sure that America will get some soon.” I state uncomfortable, feeling as if I am from a third world country waiting for technology to reach me!

“Nice to meet you all! Have a good evening and safe travels!” I dismiss myself kindly feeling somehow behind the times, as if from the third world somehow.

As I set out my cycling attire for the next day and re-pack my cycling bag I pull out my padded cycling shorts and a t-shirt advertising my community of Kalamazoo, MI. I would proudly wear the shirt from my home town. Then I pull out the striped star socks and decide to re-pack them. I begin to question what the red stripes and stars represent; Millions of dollars spent on war to secure oil supplies? America; a country with so much but yet strangely lacking the security of health care and a safe environment in the future. I am an American girl, representing the American people in my travels. My priorities are a safe environment for the future, secure health care, and acceptance for others across the world. I begin to wonder for the first time if my government really represents me. And I realize that maybe those red stripes and blue stars don’t represent the values that they used to.