On the the 250th anniversary of the U.S., caught between a firecracker and a snake in the grass

A branded bag is seen at Freedom 250’s Great American State Fair in Washington, D.C., on June 30, 2026. (Photo by Sam Gauntt/States Newsroom)

One of my earliest memories of America is lighting a firecracker on a picnic table bench across the yard from my watching parents and aunts and uncles on July 4.

Picture a little towheaded tomboy in a sundress around 6 years old in the 1980s. As a rule, I refused to wear dresses. But it was a holiday, and my mom insisted. The firecrackers and homemade strawberry ice cream after were to celebrate America’s birthday. July 4 was near enough to my birthday in early July that I imagined the party was for me, too.

They carefully explained the rules.

I was to light the firecracker and then run back to safety with the adults while not burning myself with the lit punk. This sounded like a solid plan and fairly safe. However, no one counted on the snake in the grass. No metaphor here — there was an actual snake, probably a harmless rat snake.

I have always been terrified of snakes. It did not help that this snake seemed massive. The long dark length of it stretched far into the grass, disappearing on both sides in front of me.

So, there we were: me, the snake, the lit firecracker and America. I ran from the firecracker until I met the snake. Then I ran from the snake back to the firecracker. Then I slowly backed into the middle ground between the two and hoped for the best while America and my family watched from a distance.

This, then, has always felt like the story of my generation.

I felt it then, and I feel it now. We are paralyzed between the hope of the American dream and the myth of trickle-down economics introduced by a silver-tongued movie star turned politician. We are never quite able to see either end of the truth before us. Cleverly worded policies change and slither, eroding the very things that made the American Dream possible: affordable education, employment protections, and public infrastructure.

For many of us who grew up under the threat of mushroom clouds and were taught America has always been a beacon of hope and democracy, the last two decades have been a lesson in grief and loss.

We’ve seen politicians torch the future of our children to gain political points. We’ve lost the belief that the American Dream is still possible. We’ve lost the ideal that America is good and fair for all. The lie of these things perhaps should have been obvious all along. But we were taught cherrypicked, beautiful things, and many of us didn’t think to pull back the curtain and see the weird, rotten little white grand wizard behind it.

Now that we see these truths and lies, the question becomes: What will we do about it for our children and our children’s children? Will we stand by and watch?

Tamara Moots lives and works in Manhattan. Through its opinion section, Kansas Reflector works to amplify the voices of people who are affected by public policies or excluded from public debate. Find information, including how to submit your own commentary, here.