The Spirit of '76

By Matt Stafford Sweet Owen Contributor

The past several years of uncovering interesting tidbits of ancestry has inspired family members and myself to apply for memberships to organizations like the Sons and Daughters of the American Revolution (SAR or DAR respectively). I happened to be experiencing a rather uneventful turkey hunt one morning this last spring when I decided to check my emails and discovered my application for the SAR had finally been approved. A member has to provide the evidence of an ancestral link to a Patriot, and as I’ve previously written about, my 4th great grandfather fought under George Rogers Clark and served with Daniel Boone in the defense of Fort Boonesborough. I’m not quite certain if it was fortuitous or by design, but my application was approved on the 251st anniversary of the Battles of Lexington and Concord, the first major engagement between redcoats and Patriots in the war for independence. As I read the email, my mind began to wander two and a half centuries back to meditate on the sacrifices made by the ones who paved the path to freedom.

Farmers, lawyers, merchants, clerks, rich and poor alike put everything on the line. In much the same way that brother fought brother in our state during the Civil War, families of both loyalists and rebels pitted against one another in a debate on sovereignty versus independence. A particular instance comes to mind. One of the least known of the signers of our Declaration of Independence, Lewis Morris, was warned by his own brother in the British army against signing the document, to which he is reported to have responded, “Damn the consequences. Give me the pen.” He would indeed eventually suffer the consequences, losing his home and fortune. The wealthiest, most educated men, the ones whose signatures adorn that sacred document, had absolutely everything to lose, yet they pushed their chips to the center of the table…all in. And some of them lost it all. I think of the farm boys who swapped a pitchfork for a flintlock and traded the target of a deer or turkey for a British regular in a red uniform. They served for a multitude of reasons…escaping boredom, seeking honor or adventure, defending home and hearth. Many of them lost it all as well…spilling their own blood on a piece of soil they wanted to claim and defend as their own country, the United States of America.

Matt Stafford and son Colter Stafford celebrating with fireworks.

The 250th anniversary of our nation’s independence this year has caused me to both thoroughly celebrate and reflect. One of my sons was born this past March and will be able to claim the 250th as his birth year…corny, I know, but I love it. I’m able to finally claim membership in the SAR on such a celebratory date. On the other hand, I ponder on where America is now and what the Founders’ thoughts would be. Division has always been present in our nation. It was in the very beginning when Loyalists fought Patriots, Americans fought native tribes, and we eventually fought a civil war that claimed over 600,000 men. If that were compared to today’s population, that number would be close to 6 million lives…unthinkable. Yes…it seems we’ve always been divided in one way or another. Originally it was opposing parties that favored a centralized government as opposed to states rights. Now, it’s Republicans versus Democrats, and as time ticks by, the divide is widening. It seems we have too many individuals on the extreme right or left without any retreat back to the center. It appears that bipartisanship and reaching the hand across the aisle might as well be waving a flag of surrender. I wish it weren’t so. My simplistic analogy is comparing politics to mountain climbing. In all reality, the vast majority of us all aspire to the same goal. We all wish to summit the peak…we just can’t seem to agree on the route up.

Though soccer has never really been my sport, I’ve enjoyed watching my nephew play through the years and have taken as much interest in the World Cup as the average American, rooting for our national team without fully understanding or watching a game. What captivated me more than the games was the coverage of fan bases from across the globe that descended upon our cities to cheer on their respective teams. The interviews were overwhelmingly positive…of particular interest was the feedback from the Tartan Army, the name given to the Scottish fan club. They fell in love with Boston, and Boston reciprocated the emotion. The Scots even managed to consume more libations in their weekend arrival than Boston normally experiences with their large Irish American population on St. Patrick’s Day. They enjoyed responsibly of course, but they weren’t the only ones raving about life in the USA. I saw Brits and Japanese enamored with Bass Pro Shops, Costco, raving about Texas BBQ, commending American hospitality and sneaking Ranch dressing into their bags to fly home with. It only confirms most of our suspicions that what we watch on the airways every day, from left and right sources is divisive fodder. These foreigners who had been fed false ideas of what to expect from America had flipped. They came to love it, embracing what we overlook every day.

Colter playing with fireworks.

My Independence Day this year was pure, politic-free revelry. I decorated my home a little extra this year with a Bennington Flag and an additional black and white flag of Benjamin Franklin’s “Join or Die” political cartoon flying high on the pole, yard flags lining the drive and walkway, red white and blue garden flags and “Welcome” signs, a lamppost wrapped in patriotic lights…it was glorious. We enjoyed the day in the pool, fishing with friends, watching the kids play, eating American comfort food and relishing fireworks with an accompanying soundtrack played by yours truly, including the obligatory Toby Keith classic, “Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue.” I loved every second. Every person I saw that day was adorned in patriotic gear, happy to be enjoying the freedoms we so often take for granted. There was no division or dispute, except maybe the proper doneness of a steak. How I wish it could feel that way every day…where we lived out the Spirit of ‘76 every morning our feet hit the floor…to be happy we’re breathing air and pushing down grass, instead of pushing up daisies, in the greatest country on the planet…even now. My prayer is that we live out every day as if it were September 12, 2001. I just pray it doesn’t take another 9/11 to do it.