My wife was born and raised in Ghana. She and I traveled from Accra, Ghana’s capital, to Chicago in the summer of 2000. We had gotten married the year before and she was coming to America for the first time. I had lived in this country for eight years at the time.

From the airport in Chicago, we drove to West Lafayette, Indiana, where I lived. It was also the first time my wife had traveled outside Ghana, so she marveled at everything, from the beautiful highways to the immaculate midwestern corn and soybean fields.

After we carried our luggage into my apartment upon arrival in West Lafayette, my wife asked whether there were no children in the neighborhood. I instantly knew what she meant by the question.

In most parts of Ghana, houses are unconfined so children are out and about all the time. In Ghanaian culture, when a child sees an adult carrying luggage, they run to give a helping hand. It is a show of respect toward adults. Quite often, children also have some expectation of reward for such help. When I was growing up in my village, the prize was usually a slice of bread.

For poor families in Ghana’s rural areas, bread is a luxury item. Most adults traveling from cities and large towns to visit relatives in villages therefore make an effort to bring at least one loaf of bread as a treat. A child who helps to carry such an adult-traveler’s luggage is over the moon when they receive even a miniscule slice.

I told my wife that there were indeed children in the neighborhood. But I explained to her that in America, children generally play indoors, and that even if they happen to be outside, they will not come to the aid of an adult carrying luggage. She was quite surprised by that.

It was her introduction to American culture.

Every visitor or immigrant who comes to America is astonished by the things they see and experience. As part of its coverage of America’s semiquincentennial, The Economist recently published an essay about Alexis de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America. In that book, Tocqueville chronicled his observations of America during his tour of the country between 1831 and 1832.

The pre-revolutionary France that Tocqueville came from was rigidly hierarchical. Aristocrats there had formal titles, wore different clothes, ate different food, and engaged in different leisure activities. In America, Tocqueville observed a society with “equality of conditions.” When he paid a White House visit to Andrew Jackson, America’s president at the time, Tocqueville was struck by the fact that he could address him as plain Mr. Jackson. In the words of The Economist, Tocqueville found himself in a country in which “nobody was deemed superior.”

I will never forget an experience I had in Chicago many years ago. A close friend of mine was graduating with his MBA from the Kellogg School of Management at Northwestern University, and I attended the commencement ceremony. I made a quick stop at the restroom just before the ceremony began. Someone walked in after me and chose the urinal next to the one I was standing at. I felt his imposing presence. Coincidentally, we walked to the sinks at the same time. As we both washed our hands, I turned slightly to look at who had stood next to me. I could not believe my eyes.

The gentleman was none other than Henry Paulson, who at the time was the U.S. Treasury Secretary. Even more surprising to me, he made eye contact, and we exchanged brief pleasantries as we walked out of the restroom.

I did know of Secretary Paulson’s presence on the campus that afternoon because he was the commencement speaker. But I had no expectation that I would come into such close contact with him in that kind of setting.

There is almost no other country on the planet where someone who occupies such a high position in government would walk into a public restroom. Not only that, but to talk casually with some ordinary person they meet there. That says a lot about America as a society. It is a place where powerful CEOs of large corporations routinely stop in office hallways to engage in one-on-one conversations with janitors and other low-level employees.

There is an innate humility about Americans that I can’t stop admiring, even after all these years of living here.

In less than twelve months, it will be thirty years since I became a naturalized citizen of this great country. It is an extraordinary privilege that I have never taken for granted, and never will. We are still dealing with the many effects of our nation’s ugly history of slavery. We have a long list of socio-economic and political problems today. In spite of all that, America is unparalleled in its ability to provide the freedoms and opportunities that so many millions of people around the world crave.

Sadly, we have not been particularly good stewards of the republic lately. The toxicity of our politics is seriously fraying the social fabric. We seem to have completely forgotten how to be happy.

For a reminder of what a marvelous country we are fortunate to live in, we should take a bit of time to listen to the voices of soccer fans who have flocked to our shores from all over the world. They are here to support their national teams in the current FIFA World Cup tournament. Much has been written in the past three weeks about their awe-inspiring experiences. The Wall Street Journal’s Peggy Noonan has summarized some of those sentiments, in a way only she could.

In essence, there are thousands of modern-day Tocquevilles walking up and down our streets today, making the same observations that the French diplomat chronicled in his 19th century book. We should be proud that visitors who come here have always had such wonderful impressions of our country.

In its relatively short history, America has served as both a great teacher and a great inspiration to billions of people around the world. America has been described as an indispensable nation, and rightly so. Those of us who are blessed to call this magnificent place home should always remember that we have an awesome responsibility to preserve this precious republic for ourselves, for future generations of Americans, and for all of humanity.

I returned home a couple of hours ago after watching a splendid semiquincentennial parade here in my beloved Wyomissing. It is an amazing feeling to be part of a society this beautiful.

Happy birthday, America. May you live another 250 years. And much longer after that.