“Write one myth about the idea of America.” I was a few weeks into an American literature course at university when my professor unrolled a giant piece of paper across the classroom floor. I shifted in my seat, uncertain. A myth about America? I watched as my classmates began to write phrases like “home of the free” and “melting pot.” I didn’t think those were necessarily myths. Slowly, I rose from my seat, picked up a loose marker on the floor, and wrote the only thing that came to my mind: “American Dream.” My professor chuckled. “We all know it has parentheses,” she said, emphasizing the word “parentheses” by forming air quotations with her fingers. I sat back in my seat, wondering what she meant. What was the American Dream? Was it even a reality anymore?
I grew up with a deep appreciation for America. I understood its philosophy, valued its style of governance, and its vast opportunities. However, that question asked of me during my time at university still comes to mind. The American Dream has become the token phrase for material success. Could it be something more than that? Recently, I began remembering the old stories my grandmother would tell me about her father, Lou. The son of immigrants, he grew up on a small farm in Missouri as the youngest of nine boys. Being the youngest, Lou had fewer chores and responsibilities on the farm and was left to play by with his brother Joe, who was two years older. This “imagineering” with old machine parts and scraps would prove to be the best education he would ever get. By the time Lou was 7, both of his parents had died, and he ended up living with an older brother and his family in Kansas. When Lou was 15, he finished his schooling, receiving the equivalent of a sixth-grade education. He and Joe decided to return to Missouri and rent the land where they had grown up. That summer of plowing the fields and planting had no resemblance to the childhood freedom they once experienced. With little to their names, the two boys slept in the hayloft of the old barn and ate meals of pork and beans and canned peaches. They were excited when they heard the chicken crow in the morning—as it meant there would be an egg to eat. Lou and Joe planted only wheat that summer, but by the time the fall harvest came, they were without a crop. To this day, no one is sure whether it was a drought, insects, or lack of talent that caused the mishap. In Missouri, they first became orphans and now, broke wannabe farmers; they weren’t going to stick around for strike three.
An older brother asked Joe if he would be interested in being a part-owner of a feed mill back in Kansas. Seeing this as an opportunity to start over, both brothers hopped onto a freight train back west. Newly settled in a small village of farmers and family businesses, the brothers soon faced other challenges. The Great Depression and Dust Bowl left rural Kansans with little money and even fewer crops to feed livestock. The brothers’ feed mill couldn’t turn the roughage of the farmers’ crops into a digestible, nutrient-dense feed. By adding molasses to the roughage, the livestock could consume the feed and get the nutrients they needed to survive. Lou was in charge of mixing the roughage and molasses together. It was difficult, but he saw an opportunity to find a solution. He began tinkering and “imagineering” a machine that could heat the molasses, so it could easily incorporate into and mix with the plant stock. This invention of a molasses feeder soon spread around the area, and around the country. In time, the design underwent more tinkering to become an “extruder,” and the rest, as they say, is history.
Today, I don’t see my great-grandfather’s story as being that of the “American Dream”—an idea, a fantasy focused solely on one’s material success. Such a vision is too simplistic. It is a figment of cultural imagination and consumerism. Lou’s story is one that represents what it truly means to be an American. It is not a myth; it is an essence, a sense of being. A spirit of ingenuity amid dilemmas. A spirit of hope, continually reaching to the stars despite the opposition. This American Dream is unyielding to uncertainty. I love America because I see it as a land that allows for the possibility of individual flourishing, and thereby the flourishing of the community. It is here, across the varied landscapes that make up the United States, that one’s sense of self is forged without having to be defined by color, creed, or philosophy. Here, there is the strength of the human spirit—a unique and blessed thing that is set free.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
