Fates decreed that I should become an Americanist—and an American Americanist at that—rather than a postman, fireman, basketball player, lawyer, judge, or president of the United States—all of which occupations I had with varying degrees of seriousness contemplated at one time or another of my

Existence. While reminiscing about patriotic attachment to the homeland, there came to mind the old adage “Love it or leave it” which suggested a number of variations and permutations such as “Love it and leave it”, “Don’t love it but don’t leave it” (which has recently become immensely popular among my concitoyens or fellow citizens [editor’s note: translation provided for the benefit of George W. Bush]), or even “Don’t love it, but leave it”. The latter fits in part—to the extent that it provides what others might call a “salutary critical distance”—but it in no way does justice to other reminiscences involving touch football games in the fading light of a fall afternoon, driving to school in the 40’s with the motor turned off when going downhill so as to save gas as part of the “War Effort”, listening to the Lone Ranger and Tonto (what did we know of political correctness in those distant days?), reading Superman comics (strictly banned by the parentally enforced carré blanc regulations then in vogue) … Have we really become so different? Are we really the new barbarians that Stanley Hoffmann depicts so tellingly (because with such evident reluctance to force himself to face the evidence) in L’Amérique Vraiment Impériale? Were we really ever so innocent? Or is mine an indulgence in an over-programmed nostalgia by which all societies lay claim to idyllic childhoods? I suppose that question, and the ever-inconclusive answers which it generates, are as good a reason as any to pursue the calling of an Americanist.