There are simply flags everywhere around my parents’ neighborhood. Kinga and I went for a walk yesterday and found a house that had seven flags hanging–and that’s not counting the Americana ribbons decorating the split-rail fence in the front yard, or the Americana pinwheels in flower pots.

And then there’s the “We support our troops” real-estate-style signs in the front yards. Unlike during Gulf War I, there are no “We support our troops —- bring them home” signs. Somewhat depressing.

What is it about patriotism that makes me so nervous? Why have I never considered myself a patriotic individual? “And I’m proud to be an American,” we hear from huge speakers during Independence Day fireworks shows around here, but I just can’t identify with that. How can I be proud of something I had no part in? How can I be proud of an accident of fate? Am I fortunate to be an American? Certainly. Am I glad I’m an

American? Yes.

But proud?

I’m not ashamed of it in that sense. Well, not usually. Kinga tells me that I am much more European than American now, though when pressed for an explanation, she couldn’t explain it more than to say, “Well, you don’t sit around on the couch all the time.”

Is that the view she has of Americans? If so, then I’m a little embarrassed to be an American. We need to clean up our image if that’s how the world views us.

Trouble is, Americans haven’t ever really worried about how the world views us. In fact, I don’t think the average American knows how the world views us. Perhaps we see all the Mexicans trying to cross the border and think of Ellis Island immigration and assume that all these people are struggling to get into the country to be with us in our great American adventure and eventually take part in that cliché.

That’s why criticism of American policy is often met in middle-America with the simplistic explanation, “Well, they’re just jealous, that’s all.”

“America is just one big parking lot,” Kinga said the other day.

There’s a lot in that simple sentence: the consumer mentality, the urge for independence even in transportation, the wide-openness of America, and often the emptiness of America. Taking a walk yesterday evening, Kinga and I were shocked at how the whole neighborhood is deserted. “Not a single kid out playing,” she said. As we were driving around Bristol Friday, the same thing. “If it weren’t for the fact that everything is perfect down to the last detail,” Kinga said, “I’d think the whole place was deserted.”

It didn’t use to be that way. When I was growing up, our neighborhood was filled with kids riding bikes, playing baseball.

Well, from my perspective anyway.

America has changed a lot in the last three years.