It's true. I'm an American citizen. I was born here. I can't tell you how "deep" my family tree is rooted in American soil, because I don't know, largely because I find genealogy to be about as boring as listening to golf on the radio while waiting for the paint to dry on the kettle that I'm watching to boil, but also because there are no degrees to being an American. You are, or you are not. I'm no more and no less American than any of the children born yesterday in this country, even those first born from non-citizens.
And I'm not "proud" to be an American, because being an American is a feature, it is not my identity. I'm wholly formed of many things and where I was born doesn't contribute much to who I am beyond the good fortune from dumb luck to have been born here rather than into a lower caste in India, for example. The fact that my identity, in essence who I am, is separate from my citizenship allows me to objectively examine the real world impact of my government's policies and my society's habits. Since I'm not blinded by nationalism, my examinations often result in indictments based upon increasingly predictable outcomes. And because I don't wear my citizenship as a cloak of unsubstantiated exceptionalism, I'm free and comfortable to acknowledge that which I'm asked to ignore out of non-existent duty, faux patriotism, or some other empty rhetorical context. I am free to see with "thine own eyes", and think for myself, completely unencumbered by the jingoistic, hegemonic and propaganda-fueled expectations of self-proclaimed "real Americans".
If you're reading this, and you're tempted to dismiss me as traitorous or treasonous because I refuse to adopt your ridiculous notion of pride, and if your pride is held absolute despite the obvious shortcomings of this nation with regard to its actions in the world, or the terrible abuses inflicted daily upon both our fellow citizens and those unfortunates residing in militarily inferior nations across the globe, then what you hold isn't pride at all. It's something else.
Without resorting to trite Sorkinisms, I'll try to explain.
If I had an imaginary son who happened to be the biggest and strongest child on the schoolyard, one who happened to use his fortunate happenstance to consistently abuse his classmates, would I be "proud" of him?
Should I take pride in the fact that he uses his size to intimidate the schoolyard into adopting changes to the rules of kickball, only to violate those very rules when it suits him in pursuit of the win? How about when he joins the safety patrol and proceeds to wear his badge while conducting increasingly despotic police actions in the hallways, meting out punishments for classmates that refuse to open their backpacks for inspection on demand? What about when he aligns himself with and turns a blind eye to the extortion of a lesser bully because that kid supplies him with a steady supply of cheap candy? And when he copies off of the paper of the smart kid or browbeats him into completing his homework assignments, I'm supposed to take pride when my son is named to the Honor Roll? A distinction he immediately begins to require others to acknowledge publicly and repeatedly?
Sure, there are parents that would puff out their chest at every opportunity and exclaim "that's my boy!". I could not. I also refuse to puff out my chest and exhort others to the call of American exceptionalism as proffered by the "real Americans" or "true patriots".
Just as I can love my real children while remaining fully aware of their faults, I can similarly embrace my citizenship of this nation. And, just as I have always tried to guide my children on the path of enlightenment, a less self-interested prosperity, overt kindness and empathy, and of clear and convincing civic responsibility, I will continue to fight to put America on a path of better citizenship in the world of nations and of becoming a better caretaker of our own citizenry; the only way that I can do that is to view our nation as she is, not as what she was, or more accurately, not as what she was believed to be but never actually was.
I can be ever thankful for what is routinely good and just about America, but I cannot and will not turn a blind eye to those tendencies of our society and governance which is routinely unjust and increasingly divergent from what is commonly held out to be our founding ideals, and the gulf of that divergence is the caricature of American exceptionalism.