Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
I've been terribly tempted for a long time now to do an American history series. Eventually I shall, and this...isn't entirely related, actually, but writing it reminded me of my desires. It's terribly hard not to launch into the series, there's so much to American history, but it'll have to wait.
This particular piece I fully intend to be a Romerica oneshot, if a particularly introspective one. It's kind of free-flow, and obviously I haven't really edited or fleshed it out at all, but since it'll be a while before I come back to it I thought I'd throw it up while I work on the next chapter of Educating America and a oneshot that...will be very interesting, if I get it finished.
Enjoy!
America has fallen in love countless times in his young life, sometimes at first sight, sometimes gradually over time, but always forever.
America fell in love three times within his first 24 hours of life.
When America first opened his eyes to the vast, burning blue of the sunlit heavens, he lifted his hand, fingers spread, heart soaring, and knew someday he'd have wings.
Hours later America watched in awed delight as stars sang in the dark sacred night, their voices of light a song without words resonating with his spirit until it poured out of him in laughter and joy, and he spun and danced with the constellations until he collapsed, breathless, in the grass, heart singing, knowing one day he would dance with them in the endless ether.
He opened his eyes a little while later to the pure, shining face of the moon, and the tranquil beauty of it pierced his heart; and as he spread his arms wide, face wet, heart overflowing, he knew instinctively that he would touch that face.
The next time America fell in love was years later, with the earth. This love came slowly, born over months, through gradual understanding. It started, fittingly, with a seed. He remembers warm, brown hands, wizened with age and worn smooth by time, showing him how to dig, a small hole in a mound of rich, brown earth. He remembers his small, pale hand dwarfed in the larger palm, fingers placing three seeds in his hand, showing him how to plant them, the golden maize and the red bean together in the mound, the pale, flat squash in the flat earth nearby. He remembers a warm voice, and smiling brown eyes, deep and fathomless, rich as the earth around them, telling him a story as they plant the seeds, of three sisters who are very different, but are strong because they stand united (he remembers liking the elder sister best, because she stood strong and tall and tried to protect her sisters). He remembers his amazement when the first tiny green sprouts pushed above the brown earth, and his fascination as they grew bigger and stronger everyday; until the maize stood tall, supporting the winding vines of the beans, and the gourds of squash grew fat and yellow around their roots. Soon it was time for harvest. He remembers being shown how to gather, and when; to wait until the gourds were golden, and the beans fat and heavy, and the maize's golden hair turned brown. He learned to dry the beans and maize, spreading the kernels on mats; to parch and grind and roast and to store excess grain, to be eaten when the winter came.
The next year, when Winter had passed and Spring warmed the ground, he smelled the rich scent of the earth as he eagerly dug the mounds to planted the seeds, and his heart swelled with pride and joy as he tended them and watched them grow, for he knew this would make his people strong.
His next love was again, at first sight; and he owes it in a roundabout way to Spain, who left the spirit of freedom on his shores, in the form of the horse. Though he has had many animal and human friends, in a friendly, passing sort of way, it is with the horse he first truly bonded, and with the horse he first formed a partnership. From the horse he learned of companionship, of working together, of communicating with, trusting, and relying on your partner. Over the years he's spent more time with horses than he has with any other being, be it human, animal, or personification (or even alien). He respects horses, and knows without a doubt that their bond can never be broken, for he's become as much a part of them as they are of him; their hearts and spirits are inseparable.
"We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal..." July fourth, 1776: America fell in love with the written word, for, if you'll pardon the expression, self-evident reasons.
1786, on a bright, sunny March day in New York City, wool cloak wrapped tightly around him against the cold, America tasted his first ice cream. Ben bought it for him, to cheer him up after another frustrating meeting of Congress and dismal reports from abroad (England was still refusing to send an ambassador, or to take his ambassador seriously. Poor Adams was tearing his hair out trying to get some diplomacy happening); complaining as he sorted through an assortment of Portuguese, French and English coinage to pay the vendor, "Jefferson's completely right, the sooner we adopt a monetary system based on the Spanish dollar the better. Trying to sort out this shit is fucking ridiculous." America nodded, blowing on his hands to warm them. He liked the idea, too. Anything had to be better than trying to sort out the fucking shillings and pence and farthings. Was it add twelve, or take away four...? He frowned, briefly distracted from his melancholy over the dismal congressional meeting "Here you go." His musings were interrupted when Ben turned to him, thrusting a bowl full of something thick and white that looked a lot like frozen butter under his nose, spoon fixed firmly in the top of the substance like Excalibur in its stone. "This'll cheer you up." America blinked at it, and took the bowl, frowning at the cold of it against his already cold hands. Dubious (but never one to turn down free food), he scooped up a spoonful and took a bite. As soon as the sweet, creamy substance hit his tongue, however, his attitude changed. His spirits lifted instantly, eyes lighting and lips curling up around his spoon, and Ben grinned at his expression, gesturing victoriously with his own spoon. "Told you." He said smugly, eyes sparkling behind his spectacles as he scooped up another spoonful from his own bowl. "Ice cream makes everything better." And America has found it true that while ice cream may not fix things; by and large, it always makes them better.
Contrary to popular belief, America didn't fall in love with guns (or firearms in general), for a couple of centuries. Oh, he had them, as a colony- England insisted that he buy one from him, and learn to use it in order to fight the various wars England wanted him to be a part of. So he bought the musket England brought him, and dutifully practiced with it as England asked, and tried to seem enthusiastic about it for England's sake. But the fact of the matter was, it was pretty useless. America was, at the core, a practical nation, and England's musket was anything but. It was noisy, it took forever to load, and it was inaccurate even at close distances. It was useless for hunting- it took too long to load, and your prey would have noticed you and run long before you got close enough to kill anything with it, the powder was expensive, and the bullets were almost impossible to find (he ended up retrieving and reusing the bullets he shot at his practice targets, since there were no gunsmiths in his colonies and England refused to send extra bullets). Traps and snares were faster, and anyway hunting was an inefficient way to provide food (he much preferred farming, which was far more reliable, and yielded much better profits). It wasn't even a good fighting weapon, for much the same reasons. So for several hundred years he only used guns when he had to— until early in the spring of 1852, when he joined the Texas Rangers and was given a Colt Walker to practice with. He was amazed to find a gun he could hold in his hand, fit in his belt, fire with power, speed and accuracy to a distance of over 100 yards, and fire six times before having to reload. This was a gun worth having. His excitement mounted as he learned that improvements had been made in the few short years since the Walker had debuted, and already there were revolvers that were faster, more accurate, more easy to use. He practiced diligently with the Walker, the Dragoons, each successive Colt-designed revolver and rifle thoroughly explored and tested until by the time the Peacemaker was a familiar weight at his hip and in his hand his excitement had become a steady passion; a passion which not only saved his life (and the lives of many others) but also made him who he was today, in more ways than he could count.
AN: I don't know if each of these will be fleshed out into their own chapter and explored in more depth and detail, or if I'll keep them short and brief. They do touch on a few things people don't really realise about America. For instance; for a very long time, we didn't really use guns. At all. We didn't like them. Colonists had no real use for them. They were inaccurate, and clumsy, and ridiculously expensive and basically useless.
We were primarily peaceful, agricultural colonies, and the general opinion of guns was that they were an abominable contruction whose sole purpose was to kill other people, which was reprehensible in every sense of the word. England occasionally forced us to form militia and buy their guns, just in case they needed us to defend their territories or fight, and while we'd reluctantly do so out of a sense of duty to England, we just couldn't muster any interest in firearms at all. It didn't help that more often than not England sent us only the guns that were so worn out that they couldn't be used by their own armies, and were basically falling apart anyway.
(In the words of Gary Nash in his book 'The Urban Crucible', the American lower class was "far more moderate in their proposals and far less violent" than the those of London. John Lawson, after visiting North and South Carolina noted in his book 'A New Voyage to Carolina', published 1709, that there was 'no place so free from bloodshed', and that it was a remarkably peaceful and plentiful place, but warned those who wanted to visit that they would have to bring their own guns and ammunition, as there were none to be found in the Carolinas. If you're interested, you can find these books online, for free, in the Google books database.)
Americans used guns occasionally in wars, although most of the men fighting in those battles actually used farm implements or pikes, rather than muskets. It's just that when people read our history and see 'armed men' or 'they carried arms' or even 'the right to bear arms', they automatically think of guns- when it usually refers to any implement used as a weapon, which at the time was usually farm implements (pitchforks and adzes, sort of thing) or pikes.
America didn't start using guns or gain a general interest in guns until around the time of the 'Wild West', when revolvers were developed and improved upon, and they actually became practical as weapons and hunting tools. It's just that gun culture is so pervasive now that it seems fantastical to consider that there was a time when we didn't use them, especially considering the 'dangers' the colonists must have faced (which really was mostly starvation, but hunting is a lousy way to combat starvation and we were quite well-provided for once we managed to secure a good agricultural foothold), so we tend to assume we had them, despite their lack of mention in most of our history.
On horses! Horses, as we know them, originally evolved in North America. Not so much up in Canada, sorry Canada, but in what would eventually become the US proper. For reasons unknown, shortly after they became the horse we recognise today, they just...disappeared from North America, for reasons unknown. Seriously, it's a mystery. Unfortunately, the reports and studies I've read on the subject were either vague or mystified at both how and why the horse disappeared from our continent, and how they got elsewhere in the world. (Maybe they floated on driftwood :p). However and whyever they left, Spain eventually brought them back to us, thank you Spain.
Three sisters. Yes. Look it up. To this day, the US is still very much agricultural nation (yes, we're no less a major industrial, technological, and entertainment force too, 'cause we have a lot of interests) being a net exporter of food to the rest of the world. Our corn crops far and away top the list, but we're no slouch in other areas, either.
Ben Franklin! I didn't go to public school so I don't know what they taught about him in it, but I know wikipedia leaves a lot out, such as the fact that he was known for having a mouth on him (in person, not print) and being a bit of a womanizer, among many other interesting character quirks. If you want a graphic example of this, Google 'letters of note Ben Franklin' and click on 'Older mistresses are so grateful!'
And now I think my author's note is getting longer than the actual post, so I'll stop there.