Pixel Dance

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

This is the first stanza of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “Paul Revere’s Ride.” When I was a child, instead of reading bedtime stories, my dad would read me this poem. His warm, professorial voice would ride the words, just as Revere galloped along the route to Lexington and Concord. The story, in its cadence, felt powerful, full of weight and meaning. He would rise with the tension, let off on “Middlesex village and farm.” It was hard to fall asleep, because I wanted to know what happened, even though I had heard it time after time.

Every 18th of April is a holiday to me. It’s the day I remember the covert operations of a few farmers and small businessmen who valued their freedom over anything else. I applaud the men of our Revolution, who staked their lives on liberty, and followed through with their threats.

Some of you know that I am part of the family of President John Adams. Paul Revere rode that night to warn John Hancock and Samuel Adams (yes, relation) that the British were coming to capture them, to seize Patriot ammunition, to put down the uprising that was coming to a head. The Sons of Liberty (Hancock, the Adams boys, Patrick Henry, and many others) had formed in the 1760s to oppose first the Stamp Tax, then other taxes and, by 1773 (The Tea Tax), their zeal for freedom from Britain brought them to Boston Harbor. It was the beginning of real revolution. Then, two years later, the Patriots received word from spies that the British were done with the rebels, and were sending men to silence the uprising. A call to arms rang throughout the land.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

Paul Revere eyed the top of the Old North Church, waiting for one light, waiting for two. Ready to ride! Without him, Hancock and Adams would have been captured at a house in Lexington. Who knows if the uprising would have lost its steam in that cold April morning. Would liberty have lost its footing? Such men — such moments.

So now here we are, 233 years away from great escapades of audaciously patriotic men. Let’s not forget who they were. And let’s not forget who we are. We are the Patriots of today. Now is our time. We stand guard for liberty. She is ours to keep, to protect, to fight for with our full breath. Let us watch the horizon, stay ready to ride.

The Founding Fathers set in motion a set of ideals that continuing generations have fiercely protected. Valiant men have fought and died for the principles that we hold dear. They pass a torch of trust that is firmly in our grip. May we understand its power.

In this election, our voice still resounds with a chorus of tenacious patriots who would not let tax, war, terrorism or depression diminish freedom. Do not underestimate the cause, or the calling. Centuries of human beings have longed for the flame which is lit in our hands. It is sacred. It is priceless. It is worth our everything. And we honor those who have given their everything for its sake.