Thursday, October 1, 2026
It is America’s 250th anniversary, and our 58th. This year, both events will be glorious, and also somewhat troubled.
When we were planning our wedding for the summer of 1968, we decided on July 3, so that the next day would always be a holiday, the opposite of a declaration of independence and a celebration of our personal union.
We married at 21 and then grew up together. At times we grew apart, just like this country, but we always found our way back. At every stage we were different people from the kids who got married on July 3, 1968.
In the spring of ’68, we joined the voices raging against the war in Vietnam. My future husband was drafted and then deferred just weeks before the wedding; otherwise, he might have been on his way overseas. Just one of the many what-ifs in a lifelong marriage.
We had two kids who are now oh my god in their 50s. We suffered a miscarriage first, so we carry a memory of that heartbreaking what-if.
We celebrated many of our anniversaries on the road. Bitten by the adventure bug early on, we took our coddled kids to Montana for July summers, trips that changed everyone’s life view and path forward. Our families on both sides grew up in Brooklyn. No one had ever heard of fly fishing, rock climbing and wilderness hiking. It all started when I read an ad in Outdoor Life magazine, an offer to rent “Curley’s Cabin” on the West Fork of the Bitterroot River in Darby, Mont. We did it, and then traveled Montana every summer for 10 years. Those were the best anniversaries.
By 2019 my husband was ready to retire his LIRR monthly pass, close his business and play golf forever. But nothing is forever, and anniversaries take on the mood and tenor of the moment you’re in.
On our 56th anniversary, we had dinner with our kids — four days before my husband had surgery for pancreatic cancer. Every anniversary since has been a gold star for a heroic man who survives a devastating disease that shows no mercy. And here we are in 2026, with Donnie fighting every day to stay strong and find good time.
July 3 won’t be just another anniversary. These last years have tested him and me and us. You wouldn’t think that after all these decades, I could find something new in the old dude to admire. But I have. He has summoned grace in this unfair fight and has never missed a chance to reach out to someone else who is struggling.
Our marriage is no more perfect than it was 58 years ago, but the union remains strong as we fight to keep finding good-enough days and weeks and months ahead.
In many ways, our small personal life, our anniversary history, rhymes with the great anniversary of America unfolding this week. Despite the rockets’ red glare, our country is struggling to find a way back to its core values of individual freedom for all and respect for a Constitution that protects that freedom.
After 250 years, our democracy is threatened by a perfect storm: Damaging political winds, rising waves of racism and antisemitism are crushing the life out of our America. Authoritarianism is having its day even as we struggle to reaffirm our democratic values and all the “truths we hold self-evident.” The Trump administration is dismantling the agencies and programs that guarantee our freedoms, our safe travel, our clean food and water. Trumpism has been spawned by a leader whose vision is limited to self-aggrandizement. The poorest and neediest in our country are suffering the most from impulsive policy changes and international policy failures.
In place of fair, thoughtful policy, our shrinking newspapers report favoritism and cronyism, no-bid government contracts and alleged slush funds meant to reward extremist elements of the MAGA movement. Instead of the best and brightest, the corrupt and incompetent rise to power.
On this 250th anniversary, the moment feels more challenging than celebratory.
In my own life, as I watch the fireworks and feel their reverberations in my heart, Don and I will celebrate another anniversary, hoping for more good time ahead.
In our shared American life, as I watch the fireworks, I will remember that democracy is everything — the lifeblood of the American story.
Copyright 2026 Randi Kreiss. Randi can be reached at randik3@aol.com.
