In this moment, the sun shines through the leaded glass pattern of the window, creating a warm, dancing rainbow of colors on the old beige carpet. I hear the crinkly static of the television humming in the background of the Sunday afternoon football game. From my spot on the floor, I glance up at Grandpa, his eyes focused on the glossy, tattered checkerboard in front of me. He raises his eyes to meet mine and smiles as he moves his piece on the board.

In this moment, I was visionless to the world’s pollutants, unaware of war, cancer, crime and hate. All I knew was the warm smell of homemade waffles circling through my grandparents’ house while I fought to win a game of checkers. No part of me thought it was possible for Grandpa to spend hours scared, cold, dirty, and fighting to stay alive. No part of me thought Grandma would sit in her room, tears clouding her eyes, splattering her paper, as she wrote a letter to Grandpa, hoping it wouldn’t be the last.

In this moment, Grandpa sits on his chair, watching football on the screen, playing checkers, reading the newspaper. He smiles at me with the same eyes that saw the terrors and sadness of Vietnam. The same eyes that burned red from the smoke. The same eyes tears dropped from as he hung his head in a mumbled prayer. The same eyes that returned to a country full of disapproval, that saw the signs and protests.

In this moment, I see the realities of the world. I see the gray, the blurred lines, the borders and news reports. I see Grandpa and Grandma—and their story that lived through it.

Because of people like them I can proudly say I can worship my God as I see fit. I can proudly say I am a girl. I can proudly say I stand on free land. And I can proudly say I live in the United States of America, standing alongside millions who can proudly say the same.