America is a snake that is undergoing a painful molting of its flaws and wounds

America is a snake.

At least she has long been portrayed as one. There was Benjamin Franklin’s 1754 political cartoon, “JOIN, or DIE.” Then came General Gadsden’s “Don’t Tread on Me” flag during the Revolution. The rattlesnake was our nation’s earliest favorite animal emblem.

Snakes molt.

As a snake grows, its skin isn’t like a human’s. It reaches a point where it can’t stretch. Periodically the snake has to shed its outer covering to allow for further growth and to remove parasites that have attached to its old skin. And that can be an involved and uncomfortable process.

Having just turned 244 years old, it feels like America is molting.

It seems she has outgrown her old skin. She has evolved. She is becoming more aware of her parasites, her wounds, her flaws. Some fresh. Some old and deep and calloused. Some long obscured from open view but infected and increasingly grotesque as the rays of light expose her underbelly.

While a snake is in the process of molting, its eyes may become milky, impairing its vision and sometimes resulting in aggressive behavior.

During this time of upheaval, America’s vision in 2020 has been anything but 20/20. She’s more conscious of her imperfections and the need to shed that restrictive, worn, parasitic layer. But the way forward is still murky and uncertain. The symptoms: fear, doubt, anger, frustration, anguish, suspicion, division, outrage. And aggressive behavior.

Once a new layer coheres into a complete unit and is functional, the old skin becomes a threat to continued good health. It must go. A snake will rub against rough, abrasive surfaces to shed its skin. The process is tedious and irritating. The snake-shaped shell that is eventually left behind leaves clues about why the work was so hard. It is much longer than the snake that shed it, as that skin covered the top AND bottom of each scale. Perhaps it would’ve been easier to stay cloaked in that old integument. But without the effort and discomfort to free itself, the snake would cease to grow and thrive.

What America is experiencing right now hurts. It’s trying and uncomfortable. She’s forced to navigate rough, abrasive terrain. Each scale is being left exposed. She wonders, will this process ever end? But she must trust that soon her milky eyes will clear again. She’ll cast aside that old shell, stretched to its limits and worn from decades of struggle and strife. And she’ll emerge functional and healthy and able to continue her growth, resplendent in a fresh, bright, complex array of colors.

Along with being a concerned American, Tom Lewis is a proud husband, father of three and Executive Director of the St. Claire Foundation in Morehead.