If Trump were really interested in giving the American people what they want, he would livestream himself trying to pronounce the word semiquincentennial. Barring that or another tricky encounter with a set of stairs, it seems unlikely that our 47th commander in chief is up to this task. I’m as shocked as you to find something Trump has failed at, but facts are facts.

Perhaps one of his impulses was not entirely off base. A large structure of some sort could be an apt way to mark the US’s 250th—something elegantly designed and unique, something that speaks to both the promise and the contradictions inherent to this fair land. (And no, wise guy, that gold statue of Trump does not count.) A national competition could be held, Vietnam Veterans Memorial–style, to solicit ideas from sea to shining sea, with a panel of experts selecting the best one and officially commissioning its construction.

If we start now, we’ll be ready to present America with her 250th gift sometime in, oh, 2035. But while good intentions falling victim to difficult execution and miles of red tape would be very American, it doesn’t feel particularly celebratory.

Does the answer lie instead in Hollywood—the gift of an epic project that fully captures the American experience without literally being American Experience, crafted by homegrown talent and brought to life by America’s favorite performers (British actors who learned the accent by watching Friends)? Perhaps. But the quintessential American movies—An American Tail and Top Gun: Maverick—already exist, and I’m not sure who could improve upon them with the limited time remaining before July 4. Is the perfect gift a painting (too European), a symphony (way too European), a bespoke work of jingoistic smut about Uncle Sam and the Statue of Liberty? (American, but niche—and whose uncle is Sam anyway?) Is it an app, of either the technological or “small plate from TGI Fridays” variety? Is it a hat? Does anyone still wear a hat?

The problem with this lighthearted thought experiment is that any tangible suggestion feels redundant, while any creative one is too subjective and any earnest one (universal health care, universal income, comped tickets to Universal Studios) is hopelessly corny. I mean that negatively, even though corn is an indigenous crop.

Or maybe the real problem is that the very notion of a handout goes against the principles our founding fathers loved mansplaining. We’re famously a nation of iconoclasts, of pioneers, of people who pull themselves out of the muck using the kinetic power of their own bootstraps. (Oh—bootstraps! But where can you buy those anymore?) From the Boston Tea Party to manifest destiny to the rapacious development of OpenAI, we don’t give; we take, and we expect everyone to thank us for it when we’re through.

So maybe the most apt 250th-birthday gift for America is no gift at all. Or a handmade card delivered with a blindingly white American smile. In situations like this, it’s the thought that counts.