How am I supposed to celebrate America—vocally, in a classroom—in a country that barely tolerates me? That edits the truth I’m here to teach, side-eyes my tone, and turns words like “freedom” into performance. I’m supposed to smile while talking about independence, hang flags on my bulletin board, and lead a discussion about liberty, when my kids still get followed in stores and suspended for raising their voices. They’re not being prepared for the “real world”—they’re being prepped to survive a system that was never built for them to thrive in. They’re taught to obey, not to think. To fill in the blank, but not to ask who wrote the question. And all of this is happening in buildings that love buzzwords—equity, inclusivity, belonging—but can’t seem to back those words up with action. So no, I don’t celebrate the Fourth in my classroom. I celebrate the moment—usually around fifth period—when a student finally asks, “Why does it have to be like this?” And I say, “Exactly.” That’s where real freedom begins.