You have to love your country like an adult loves somebody, not

Host: The bar was dim and humming — a low, steady murmur of conversation layered over the soft twang of an old jukebox. Rain slicked the street outside, turning the reflections of neon signs into trembling ribbons of color. The smell of whiskey, wet wool, and fried food filled the air, the scent of a country still arguing with itself.

At a table near the back, Jack sat nursing a bourbon, his tie undone, his eyes fixed on the muted TV above the bar — a political debate flickering in shades of blue and red. Across from him, Jeeny stirred her drink slowly, her hand resting near a folded napkin covered in notes and quotes.

For a while, they didn’t speak. Then Jeeny set down her glass and read softly, her tone calm but deliberate — like someone placing a fragile truth on the table.

Jeeny:

“You have to love your country like an adult loves somebody, not like a child loves its mommy. And right-wing Republicans tend to love America like a child loves its mommy, where everything Mommy does is okay. But adult love means you're not in denial, and you want the loved one to be the best they can be.”
— Al Franken

Host: The air shifted. The TV murmured on, but the words had landed with more weight than the noise around them could carry. Jack looked up from his drink — a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, half-amusement, half-ache.

Jack: grinning faintly “Al Franken. The comedian turned senator who spoke more sense in jokes than most men do in speeches.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Because humor’s just truth wearing a lighter coat.”

Jack: nodding “And this truth cuts deep. We treat patriotism like parenthood — unconditional, blind, immune to accountability.”

Jeeny: leaning forward “Exactly. But real love — the kind that lasts — demands confrontation. If you can’t criticize what you love, then you don’t love it. You’re just afraid of losing it.”

Host: The bartender wiped down the counter, the sound of a rag against glass faint and rhythmic. Outside, thunder rolled across the sky — low, steady, like a growl beneath the city’s heartbeat.

Jack: swirling the ice in his glass “You know, it’s not just Republicans. Every side’s got its children — the ones who think loyalty means silence.”

Jeeny: quietly “True. The left romanticizes too — just in a different direction. They think love means rewriting history, not reconciling with it.”

Jack: smiling faintly “So America’s the dysfunctional lover — everyone projecting their fantasy onto her.”

Jeeny: softly “And no one sitting down to listen to who she really is.”

Host: A man at the bar laughed too loudly; the jukebox changed songs — something slow, something aching. The light from the neon sign outside flickered through the window, painting the table in pulses of red, white, and blue.

Jack: sighing, looking toward the TV “Franken’s right, though. Loving your country like a child means you worship its myth. Loving it like an adult means you wrestle with its truth.”

Jeeny: nodding “Children say, ‘My country, right or wrong.’ Adults say, ‘My country, and I will help make it right.’”

Jack: with a quiet smile “There’s your difference between nationalism and citizenship.”

Jeeny: grinning “Exactly. One demands obedience. The other demands participation.”

Host: The storm outside intensified — rain lashing the glass, thunder cracking like punctuation to their every sentence.

Jack: leaning back, thoughtful “It’s strange, isn’t it? We were taught that patriotism means pride. But pride without accountability isn’t love. It’s vanity.”

Jeeny: softly “And vanity is always insecure. That’s why it yells so loud.”

Jack: smirking “So the loudest patriots might just be the loneliest ones.”

Jeeny: quietly “Maybe because deep down, they sense the country they love isn’t the one that exists anymore.”

Host: The jukebox hummed the chorus of an old Springsteen song — a voice cracked by time, singing about highways and hope.

Jack: after a pause “Do you think a nation can grow up?”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Only if its people do. Nations are just mirrors — they reflect the maturity of their citizens.”

Jack: softly, like an admission “Then maybe we’re still in adolescence — rebellious, insecure, desperate to prove something to the world.”

Jeeny: nodding “And terrified of introspection.”

Host: The rain softened now, a steady patter against the glass. The thunder moved on — distant, reluctant, like a departing argument.

Jeeny: after a pause “You know what I think? Loving a country like an adult means knowing it’s imperfect and loving it anyway — not despite its flaws, but because they remind you it’s human.”

Jack: smiling faintly “That’s a dangerous kind of love. It demands forgiveness, but also responsibility.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. To love your country is to hold it accountable — the way you’d hold someone you love accountable for their potential.”

Jack: quietly “And to never mistake comfort for loyalty.”

Host: The camera would draw back, catching their reflections in the bar window — two silhouettes framed against the storm’s dying light, the glow of the neon “OPEN” sign flickering behind them.

Jack: after a long silence “Maybe the real patriots aren’t the ones waving flags. Maybe they’re the ones asking, ‘How can we be better?’”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Exactly. Because real love — grown-up love — doesn’t look away. It stays. It works. It demands.”

Host: Outside, the rain finally stopped. The street gleamed like new glass, the lights of the city reflected in every puddle — imperfect, fractured, but shining.

And as the music faded, Al Franken’s words echoed, both challenge and confession:

That patriotism without honesty
is not love — it is denial.

That to love one’s country
is not to defend it blindly,
but to see it clearly —
to demand of it what you demand
of anyone you truly care for:
growth, courage, truth.

That a child’s love says,
“You are perfect.”
But an adult’s love says,
“I see your flaws —
and I’ll stay to help you heal them.”

And in that kind of love,
not loud, not blind,
but brave —
the heart of a nation
finally learns to grow up.