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Happy birthday, America! Honestly, you don’t look a day over 200.
I can say that with authority because I was fully sentient in 1976, a high school sophomore with too much hair, working part-time at an ice cream parlor for the federally mandated minimum wage of $2.30 an hour.
The bicentennial world was pretty different. No internet, no personal computers. Cars were cooler, but less safe. Vinyl still ruled. So did network TV. Phones were attached to the wall.
(This is where you roll your eyes and say, “Yes, we know, Grandpa.”)
And besides, “bicentennial” is much easier to say and remember than “semiquincentennial.”
But in some ways, things were kinda the same. Inflation was running hot. A major conflict with Iran was on the horizon. Politics were weird — but weird in a different way.
And how about money?
That $2.30 an hour I made at Swensen’s Ice Cream Factory? Equivalent to about $13 today.
Median household income, on the other hand, is actually higher than it was 50 years ago, even after adjusting for inflation.
A college education? Don’t even ask.
So happy semiquincentennial, everyone. Let’s be clear: I owe everything I have to a decision my father made to leave Holland and bring his young family here. I was born a few years later into a life that has been marked by opportunity.
All I want for Independence Day is for the generations after mine to have the same opportunities.
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