LOOK UP AND APPRECIATE OUR FLAG

I was on my way to work the other day and as I passed Cape County Park, I looked up. There it was, waving in a fresh breeze just like so many mornings before, but this morning there was a difference. That big, beautiful American flag had a tear in it. The first stripe at the top was torn loose from the rest and was beginning to fray as the wind whipped through it. I made a mental note to call someone, but then I remembered that Memorial Day was only two days away and that a new flag would surely to be installed by then. They always took care of this flag. I felt relieved.

That can't be said about many of the flags around town, however, and more than once I have called a business owner and told him that he should go out and look up at his flag. On my way somewhere I had noticed that it was torn, or faded to the point of disrespect, and needed to be replaced. Almost always the response is, "Oh! I'll replace it right away, thank you for calling." Most people just need to be reminded to look up more often.

As I was thinking about my small, personal campaign to watch over Cape and Jackson's flags, it hit me that I had been doing that for a long time. It really upsets me to see our flag torn or dirty or faded, and I'm not shy about telling someone about it. I started to search back in my memory to find the beginning of my watch and kept going deeper and deeper into my childhood. I realized that growing up I was always surrounded by veterans, and by other people who love this country. I have been quietly, and sometimes not so quietly steeped in patriotism my whole life.

I wondered how many kids grew up without this sort of experience. I felt sorry for those who didn't have it, and I quietly thanked my own family, most of whom have gone on to their reward. While I was searching through my memory banks, I recalled those special days when the "old folks" in our family would gather. I would listen to the stories they told about World War I and II, and Korea. I heard about Pearl Harbor and about what an awful feeling it was to hear the broadcast of the news about the attack. As I would listen, I could almost hear those words myself coming over a crackling radio in the living rooms of Americans all across the country. The ladies would talk about their men being gone, and how it felt to wonder if they were coming home. My uncle was one of those absent men. As the story goes, he volunteered for service soon after Pearl Harbor, and was just a kid when he was shot down in the Pacific and spent long agonizing hours in the water before finally being rescued. He walks with a limp, but still to this day, holds his head high.

My father didn't serve in World War II, and I never knew why. He always seemed embarrassed and sad when the subject came up and I never pushed him. His lack of formal service didn't dim his love for our country, however. I know that he would have physically attacked anyone he saw desecrating her flag, even in his last days. Of course, over the years, he disagreed with this policy or that politician, but never with the principles that bind us together into ". . . one nation, under God." I still get chills when I remember my dad standing in front of a gathering at his local lodge, reciting a poem about the ". . . American flag going by." The room was as still as the dawn, and he had a little trouble with the last line.

It's hard to talk with a lump in your throat even for a man of his considerable stature. When he was finished, tears glistened in every eye in that room, including his. No one was ashamed of the emotion, no one turned his face away. There was no need because we all were feeling the same swell in our chests and catch in our throats. This is the environment in which I was raised. I was taught to love this country unconditionally. I was taught to stand for the singing of the Star-Spangled Banner. I was taught to honor the men and women that fought our battles for us, and to revere those who still stand between her and harms way today.

I was a teenager when images of Vietnam were on the nightly news, and I bawled like a baby when a group of our P.O.W.'s finally came home. I know from stories and pictures that the American flag has been torn in the heat of battle. I know that it has been stained by the soil of many foreign countries. I know it has been faded from long use on the front lines. I also realize that it has been burned in the fires of hatred, abroad and at even at home. But I believe, it because of those times, that it should never be taken for granted, never overlooked, always handled with care, and never flown in less than it's full glory over a nation at peace. As you go to work this week, look up. Maybe the flag at your local bank is torn or frayed. Maybe the flag that your neighbor puts up on holidays is soiled. Maybe the one you are flying at your own business is faded from long use. Look up, and maybe pause a moment to think about someone you know that lost his or her life defending the country that flag represents. Then try to imagine what it would be like if we lost the privilege to raise our stars and stripes every day and were forced to fly the flag of another country in its place.

Jane Nicholas is a Jackson resident and mother of two.