51黑料

The pork steaks will be sizzling on the grill. The children will be eyeing the box of fireworks that Dad told them not to touch. The humidity will be intolerable but you鈥檒l be outside anyway, with umbrellas and misters and wading pools. It鈥檚 a holiday, it鈥檚 America and this is what we do.

Then a neighbor, or friend or relative will stick their hand in the cooler, lingering as the ice and frigid water brings his internal temperature down a bit. His hand will emerge clutching a beer, and it will happen to be a Bud Light.

Then, even before the fireworks are lit, the sparks will fly.

Long a patriotic staple of Fourth of July cookouts, especially in 51黑料, this most American of beers 鈥� at least until it was bought by an international conglomerate 鈥� has become the latest touchstone in the country鈥檚 culture wars.

It鈥檚 not your fault. After hosting the patriotic neighborhood barbecue for years, you鈥檝e gotten the supplies and timing down to a science. In fact, you have a list, and it鈥檚 the same every year.

Your wife 鈥� who doesn鈥檛 pay much attention to social media controversies because she鈥檚 a grownup 鈥� took the list and went to buy the same things you bought for the barbecue last year, for the year before that and for many years before that.

The key moment 鈥� when your guest recoils in horror at touching a Bud Light and begins wondering whether transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney is invited to the party 鈥� will lead to uncomfortable conversations.

Are my neighbors Democrats? Will I turn gay if I touch a Bud Light, unless I immediately douse my arm in a vat of Black Rifle Coffee? Are those pork steaks drizzled in barbecue sauce that was purchased at Target? Is that guy with a goatee and an earring a librarian in St. Charles County?

For a moment, it will be like a return to that first pandemic Thanksgiving, when Uncle Fred wouldn鈥檛 let you in his house if you wore a mask. There will be moments of awkward silence. Then somebody will hand you a beer 鈥� a different beer 鈥� and the Cardinals will hit a home run (work with me, this entire column is made up), a cloud will cover the sun briefly and the temperature will dial down a notch.

It will still be too hot (climate change), and the pork steaks will cost too much (inflation). But all-in-all, it will be a good party. And, sure, there will be some Bud Light left over, but who cares? Put it in the basement fridge for next Fourth of July, when America will have moved on to the outrage du jour.

Increasingly, for many of us, that鈥檚 what the nation has become: a daily outrage machine where we gin up anger over differences 鈥� real and perceived 鈥� fed by a 24-hour news cycle that is hyper-charged by social media. There are exceptions, like the glorious days when Elon Musk (again) and those of us who are addicts must put down our phones because we have exceeded our 鈥渞ate limit鈥� and have to have real conversations with people around us.

That鈥檚 really the point of a Fourth of July barbecue, isn鈥檛 it? To talk to each other? Be it a family gathering or a block party, for whatever our differences are, we begin with a shared purpose: celebrating the common ground we have as Americans.

Key to that common ground is the shared belief that we have the freedom to argue over what it means to celebrate the flag that we wave from our porch or plant in our flower garden or wear on our clothing. We do so on the day that we celebrate our nation鈥檚 birth while drinking (formerly patriotic) beer.

Debates about patriotism often make me remember an old boss of mine. I worked for Kamal more than 30 years ago. He was a first-generation American, the son of Palestinian immigrants. He grew up in North Carolina and had a syrupy sweet southern accent. He was a Vietnam veteran who hung a POW flag on the wall behind his desk.

One year around the Fourth of July, as America was doing battle in the first Gulf War, he made waves by being the only business leader in our neighborhood to not hang an American flag outside the entrance.

It was an American decision made by a veteran who didn鈥檛 want to see more troops die in a war he didn鈥檛 believe in. My boss suffered uneducated slings and arrows from people who didn鈥檛 know his past or take the time to understand the depth of his decision. So it is today, as every disagreement is too often turned into a demonization of something we don鈥檛 understand.

America is a complicated country. It was then, it is now, and it always shall be. There are tough battles ahead as our elected officials and judges argue over what America will look like for the next generation.

But sometimes, a Bud Light is just a cold beer on a hot day.