One very popular song annoys me.  It’s the country song with the line, “I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free.”  How does that guy know he’s free?  Somebody told him, “Americans are free.”

I felt free when I was a little girl and my grandma would march us all around the piano in a two-room schoolhouse singing, “God bless America.”  That song would not be permitted in a contemporary curriculum.

My father once built a restaurant from the ground up without any plans.  He wanted to see if he could do it.  He knew the rules, and he had to jump through some atrocious hoops to get permits and approvals after-the-fact.  Aren’t Americans supposed to be innovators who push the envelope?  If we aren’t allowed to, we’re not free.

We’re not free when our money is involuntarily withdrawn to bail-out banks, and industries…and European interests.  We’re not free when our money buys lighted signs and radio ads reminding us to “stay alive” and “turn off the stereo”!

My dairy farmer friend is told where she must sell her milk, how much she’ll be paid, how to care for the cows and where their manure must fall.  She’s not free.

My husband is not free.  He is required to pay union dues to work his job.  Sherry Loar was forced into a union in her own home!  She has been a babysitter for 30 years, then she received notification that she was, as of that moment, a union.  She asked, “Am I management or labor”?  (See Mackinac Center website for information about her lawsuit.)

People up north aren’t free to ride their 4-wheelers.  My boys aren’t free to sell worms or minnows.  We’re not free to fish.  (Can you afford fish anymore?)

None of us is free when our financial transactions are monitored.  We’re not free when our doorways have GPS markers.  We’re not free when our voices are recorded as we cross the Mackinac Bridge.

References to American freedom are nostalgia, and I prefer to be a realist.  We’ll never recognize true freedom as long as we accept the current definition.  We are not free.

Patrick Henry:  “For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, to know the worst, and to provide for it.”

That brings me back to the song.  “I’m PROUD to be an American…”  One of my favorite books says, “Pride cometh before a fall.”  I’m GRATEFUL to be an American.  I’d be more grateful to be a truly free one.

Linda

Toyota recalled the problematic cars because they wanted to avoid  liability for any damage or injuries that may result from the problem with their cars.  They didn’t want to go to court and waste resources defending lawsuits.  The individuals at Toyota probably didn’t want the sleepless nights that result when you do something that hurts other people. There are a thousand reasons for Toyota to recall their cars.  But, one reason is paramount: Toyota wants to sell more cars.

Following the recall of Firestone tires in 2000, Congress passed legislation requiring auto manufacturers to give them information on consumer complaints, property damage, injuries, deaths…even warranty claims.  Our representatives in Washington demand to know all this.  The man-hours, expense, and effort of providing this information must add a nice chunk to the high
prices we already pay for cars.  Now Congress is investigating Toyota.

My congressman said, “We want to find out what Toyota knows about the sudden acceleration problem with several of their vehicles and we want to know what will be done to protect
consumers who are currently driving those vehicles,”  Why?  Why does the government need to know this?  Where in the Constitution does it say that government even has the right to know
this?  And, what use is this information to them, anyway?

Although it is a great coincidence that this governmental  imperative on Toyota comes only a few weeks after the U.S. auto industry was… basically nationalized, I will not speculate.  I am certain
of one thing, though.  I trust Toyota to make better cars than my government.  I trust Toyota more than my government.  But, I may be wrong; I’ve never seen my congressman with a
wrench.