Bruce Lowry

The (Bergen County, N.J.) Record

I wouldn’t describe myself as a flag-waving American or, normally, being that vocally patriotic.

I play my patriotism, like my religious beliefs, close to the vest.

Yet there I was Thursday, on the old green sofa, half-whispering, half-lunging, half-screaming at the TV — “go … go… go” — as American Caeleb Dressel pressed toward the wall to win the men’s 100-meter freestyle at the world swimming championships in Budapest, Hungary.

It was the most electrifying thing I’ve seen in a while, in any sport. So animated was announcer Rowdy Gaines toward the end of the race, shouting, “Dressel, Dressel, Dressel,” that I imagined him coming out of his chair. Dressel, just 20 years old, touched home at 47.17, an American record.

I confess it was a moment I stumbled on by chance, channel surfing, while there was a bit of a break in what passes for “serious TV time” at my house. But I am certainly glad I did. As the Associated Press reminded, the 100 free is the sport’s glamour event. American Nathan Adrian took the silver.

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“He crushed it,” said Adrian, 28, who won gold in the same event at the 2012 London Olympics. “He’s going to be incredible for years to come.”

Thinking about it Friday morning, I was still a little perplexed by my own reaction to the Dressel race. It was exhilarating as a sporting event in and of itself, but I actually had chill bumps during those last 50 meters.

I was all out pulling for Dressel … because he was an American. Not to say I am ashamed of my fervor, merely that I struggle to take meaning from it. I’m wary of becoming too patriotic, lest I lose perspective.

Perhaps, as my poet friend Chelsea has reminded me twice lately, I “tend to overthink things.”

Maybe that’s what I’m doing now, making more out of something than is there. Yet I can’t easily cast it aside, either. After all, I am one who gets queasy about grand displays of patriotism, or this notion of “American exceptionalism,” or even “Americanism.”

Yes, my father served in World War II. My nephew, a Marine, in the Persian Gulf War.

Yet I don’t like it when they sing God Bless America at baseball games and I feel pressured to join in, especially when Take Me Out to the Ball Game is a much better song.

This concept known as nationalism is often on unapologetic display at the Olympics, or at international events such as the world swimming championships, or even the World Cup. It’s one of those things that might seem good in small doses, like a little port before bedtime, but when it’s gulped like Gatorade or Red Bull, it becomes problematic.

And that is before we even get into the medal stand ceremony and the playing of the national anthems. One of the enduring memories of my childhood is seeing Olympic sprinters Tommie Smith and John Carlos giving the “black power” salute on the medal stand at Mexico City in 1968. I remember my father being visibly upset about it, but I didn’t quite understand.

In short, such occasions can be loaded with the baggage of patriotic emotion, political turmoil and social injustice.

That said, I think my reaction to Dressel’s stunning triumph had something to do with the chaos that has overcome America of late. President Trump’s worldview and his policies have scrambled my sense of patriotism, or stolen it, and now I am seeking a way to reclaim it.

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When Dressel was gliding through that water, he was just an American kid showing supreme effort — seeing a gazillion hours of practice and work in and outside the pool pay off in a huge splash of victory. He allowed me, a sometimes too cynical, middle-age man lounging on a sofa in New Jersey, to go along for the ride.

My eyes didn’t well with tears, but my chest burst with pride. It dawned on me that I hadn’t felt so good about my country, or its future, in a long time.

I guess what I mean is that for 47 seconds and change, all the “stuff” we’ve lived through in the past six months, all the division and hateful rhetoric, was driven away and a small bit of America, what it means to be American, rose up inside me till it reached my throat and threatened to drown me.

Bruce Lowry is an editorial writer at The (North Jersey) Record, where this column first appeared. Follow him on Twitter: @BruceLowry21

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