I am having a son. In a few months, I will hold in my arms a new life that I am responsible for shaping. A child who will look to me for guidance, for understanding, for a sense of belonging in this world. That thought alone is staggering. Fatherhood is already asking things of me I don’t know how to answer. Chief among them: how am I supposed to give my son patriotism when I myself have no self-hope?
I have struggled with pride in my country for as long as I can remember. Not the shallow, performative kind—the flags, the anthems—but the deeper belief that this place, this system, is something worth investing in. It’s hard to feel connected to a nation that often feels broken, where the cracks seem to run deeper with each passing year. Corruption, division, disillusionment—how do you find hope in that? And if I don’t have it for myself, how can I possibly offer it to someone I need to rais.
Yet I don’t want to raise him on cynicism. I don’t want his worldview to be built on disappointment. So maybe the answer isn’t in blind pride, but in something more honest. Maybe it’s in teaching him to love where he comes from, not because it is perfect, but because it is his. Maybe it’s about instilling a sense of responsibility rather than complacency. Maybe patriotism isn’t about believing in a myth but about engaging with reality—seeing what is broken and choosing to care anyway. If I can’t give him my own unshaken faith in this country, perhaps I can give him the tools to build his own.