A Parable For In Dependence Day

I’d like to tell you a story…

This year as every new one, on a hot and balmy evening in July, a man sat with his young son upon the balcony of his mansion in the hills overlooking the city. As the darkness of night began to encroach upon the day, the little boy began to get restless, for his yearly experience each 4th of July was quite different from most children, even anti-climatic in a way. From this distance and vantage point way above even the farthest of rockets launched, as the sun was just beginning to set, it appeared that the whole county was ablaze in tiny explosions, a ballet of distant flashes and bangs without the accompanying decibels. One might compare this scene to a war zone, if one had any such experience as that. But alas, as with all elite, such wars and battles are watched from afar.

But oh, how the boy would beg his father each year to take him to watch the fireworks shows up close and personal, only to be denied and silenced with a wisdom that he couldn’t quite fully grasp in these tender years. As the darkness settled and the intensity of each individual household’s shooting of multi-colored rockets into the air increased into a crescendo of non-rhythmic, barely controlled chaos, and as the spectacle of so many participants lit up the sky, the boy knew it was time for his father to speak his wisdom. For his pride was overwhelming, spilling over as he marveled at what he and his alliance of upper-class families had created to control and satiate the masses.

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