My patriotism went down with the Towers on 9/11.
Like most Americans, who had a flag (they weren't available in gumball machines then), I ran mine up that day out of sheer helplessness and grief. I didn't know what else to do.
A month later, I took it down and haven't raised it since. It's my personal, small act of defiance against what I see as a sweeping desecration of a symbol that had the power to make me weep with gratitude and pride for what it represented.
I was proud to be an American. Now, I'm committed to being the best American I can be, but I'm not proud. Not anymore.
The success the terrorists had in bringing out the worst in us must cause them to quiver with delight. In response to their action, our nation has become predatory, exclusive, self-righteous, divisive, and cruel.
Stick a flag in my lapel and hide me behind her skirts I can justify taking any action--most of which she continues to stand against. A flag pin or these-colors-don't-run bumper sticker doesn't make me a patriot. Attitude and actions do.
For me, the tawdry use of our national symbols mirrors what has happened to our ability to recognize true patriotism. We've lost our faculty to recognize the nobility in either.
Go outside and look up and down your street. If there are lawns, you've got little flags near the curbs, compliments of your local realtor, tree trimmer, service club, whatever. Notice how the folks who put them out don't come around to retrieve them on July 5th?
No, they end up mouldering in the gutter, chewed up by the dog, ripped apart by enterprising kids for the sticks, which as sticks go, are pretty nifty.
Just when I think I've got my flag-issues under control, they come roaring out of the chute. I went storming into a friend's house waving an abused yard flaglett. My friend told me get a grip. Technically it wasn't a true flag. It was a representation.
It had 50 stars, 13 stripes, and was red, white, and blue. Looked like a true flag to me.
That's like telling me photos of my granddaughters aren't my true granddaughters. Well, duh. I still don't want their representations tacked up in the boys' locker room with the caption, for a good time call....
Keep the potato salad cold, and y'all have real good Fourth.
Like most Americans, who had a flag (they weren't available in gumball machines then), I ran mine up that day out of sheer helplessness and grief. I didn't know what else to do.
A month later, I took it down and haven't raised it since. It's my personal, small act of defiance against what I see as a sweeping desecration of a symbol that had the power to make me weep with gratitude and pride for what it represented.
I was proud to be an American. Now, I'm committed to being the best American I can be, but I'm not proud. Not anymore.
The success the terrorists had in bringing out the worst in us must cause them to quiver with delight. In response to their action, our nation has become predatory, exclusive, self-righteous, divisive, and cruel.
Stick a flag in my lapel and hide me behind her skirts I can justify taking any action--most of which she continues to stand against. A flag pin or these-colors-don't-run bumper sticker doesn't make me a patriot. Attitude and actions do.
For me, the tawdry use of our national symbols mirrors what has happened to our ability to recognize true patriotism. We've lost our faculty to recognize the nobility in either.
Go outside and look up and down your street. If there are lawns, you've got little flags near the curbs, compliments of your local realtor, tree trimmer, service club, whatever. Notice how the folks who put them out don't come around to retrieve them on July 5th?
No, they end up mouldering in the gutter, chewed up by the dog, ripped apart by enterprising kids for the sticks, which as sticks go, are pretty nifty.
Just when I think I've got my flag-issues under control, they come roaring out of the chute. I went storming into a friend's house waving an abused yard flaglett. My friend told me get a grip. Technically it wasn't a true flag. It was a representation.
It had 50 stars, 13 stripes, and was red, white, and blue. Looked like a true flag to me.
That's like telling me photos of my granddaughters aren't my true granddaughters. Well, duh. I still don't want their representations tacked up in the boys' locker room with the caption, for a good time call....
Keep the potato salad cold, and y'all have real good Fourth.
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