When I am torn into strips and used as bandages
for my wounded comrades on the battlefield;
When I am flown at half-mast to honor my countrymen;
When I lie in the trembling arms of a grieving parent
at the grave of their fallen son or daughter;
When I lie in the arms of a child or spouse who will have to go on without one who gave their life to save the life of another,
as so many did at the Pentagon and
the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001.
My name is Old Glory. Long may I wave.
Howard Schnauber
Just Ask Permission
The flag is the embodiment, not of sentiment, but of history.
Woodrow Wilson
Does the First Amendment give us the right to desecrate the American flag? Or is the flag a sacred symbol of our nation, deserving protection by law? Tough call?
I’ve got the solution.
For those who want to light Old Glory on fire, stomp all over it or spit on it to make some sort of “statement,” I say let them do it. But under one condition: They must get permission.
First, you need permission of a war veteran. Perhaps a marine who fought at Iwo Jima?
The American flag was raised over Mount Surabachi upon the bodies of thousands of dead buddies. Each night on Iwo meant half of everyone you knew would be dead tomorrow, a coin flip away from a bloody end upon a patch of sand your mother couldn’t find on a map.
Or maybe ask a Vietnam vet who spent tortured years in a small, filthy cell unfit for a dog. Or a Korean War soldier who rescued half a nation from communism, or a Desert Storm warrior who repulsed a bloody dictator from raping and pillaging an innocent country.
That flag represented your mother and father, your sister and brother, your friends, neighbors and everyone at home.
I wonder what they would say if someone asked their permission to burn the American flag?
Next, ask an immigrant. Their brothers and sisters may still languish in their native land, often under tyranny, poverty and misery. Maybe they died on the way here, never to touch our shores. Some have seen friends and family get tortured and murdered by their own government for daring to do things we take for granted.
For those who risked everything simply for the chance to become an American . . . what feelings do they have for the flag when they pledge allegiance the first time? Go to a naturalization ceremony and see for yourself the tears of pride, the thanks, the love and respect of this nation as they finally embrace the American flag as their own.
Ask one of them if it would be okay to tear up the flag.
Last, you should ask a mother. Not just any mother, but a mother who gave a son or daughter for America. It doesn’t even have to be in war. It could be a cop. A fireman. Maybe a Secret Service agent. Then again, it could be a common foot soldier. When that son or daughter is laid to rest, their family is given one gift by the American people: an American flag.
Go on. I dare you. Ask that mother to spit on her flag.
I wonder what the founding fathers thought of the American flag as they drafted the Declaration of Independence? They knew this act would drag young America into war with England, the greatest power on Earth. They also knew failure meant more than disappointment. It meant a noose snugly stretched around their necks. But they needed a symbol, something to inspire the new nation. Something to represent the serious purpose and conviction we held for our new idea of individual freedom. Something worth living for. Something worth dying for. I wonder how they’d feel if someone asked them permission to toss their flag in a mud puddle?
Away from family, away from the precious shores of home, in the face of overwhelming odds and often in the face of death, the American flag inspires those who believe in the American dream, the American promise, the American vision. . . .
Americans who don’t appreciate the flag don’t appreciate this nation. And those who appreciate this nation appreciate the American flag. Those who fought, fought for that flag. Those who died, died for that flag. And those who love America, love that flag. And defend it.
So if you want to desecrate the American flag, before you spit on it or before you burn it . . . I have a simple request. Just ask permission. Not from the Constitution. Not from some obscure law. Not from the politicians or the pundits. Instead, ask those who defended our nation so that we may be free today. Ask those who struggled to reach our shores so that they may join us in the American dream. And ask those who clutch a flag in place of their sacrificed sons and daughters, given to this nation so that others may be free. For we cannot ask permission from those who died wishing they could, just once . . . or once again . . . see, touch or kiss the flag that stands for our nation, the United States of America . . . the greatest nation on Earth.
Tom Adkins
Bring Us a Flag
I was involved in a radio contest, which involved twelve contestants living at the state fairgrounds for two weeks in Survivor-like conditions: no electronics, little sleep and competitions every day. The contest took place from September 7 to the 21st. Each day a contest member was voted out. The contest prize was ten thousand dollars for the last person left.
There I was, locked up in a thirty-by-thirty-foot cage, playing a silly game that had all of a sudden lost all meaning. The only information we had was from radio news reports heard on the pop station that was running the contest. The only pictures we could see were the ones my lovely wife showed us as she held up a newspaper to the fence. Six of us lived in our little camp, but at that moment we felt alone. My tribemates and I considered walking out and ending the contest. All we could think of was holding our loved ones.
Each day we were interviewed on the radio and shared our thoughts and feelings. Speaking for all of us, one of my tribemates, Jim Severn, made a plea to those listening to bring us a flag. We felt at that time that we needed to see an American flag—nothing else seemed real.
Later that same morning we heard a woman on the radio say she was sending her husband to our camp with a very special flag. She spoke of her grandfather who had been at Pearl Harbor. During the attack, he was responsible for saving many lives. His commander had been so impressed and inspired by this man’s actions that he gave him one of the flags from the ruins of Pearl Harbor. His granddaughter now wanted us to have this flag because she was so touched by our simple request.
An hour later we watched as a man walked towards us. In one hand was the flag, holding the other was his son who looked no older than five or six. The pride he felt as he attached the flag to our fence was overpowering. As he finished displaying the flag the most magical thing happened. Where there was once no wind, all of a sudden the flag began to wave as a flag should. At that same moment, the radio began to play “I Will Remember You” by Sarah McLachlan. Her words touched all of us deeply.
Something else magical happened. While the flag was waving proudly, the leaves on the nearby trees were still. It was as if there was a spirit inside this flag causing it to move. Without saying one word during the entire song, we all shared the same thoughts and not a dry eye was to be found.
When we first heard the news of the terrorist attacks we wanted to walk out. When we felt the power of that one flag we wanted to stay and stand strong. By the end of the competition you could hardly see through our fence: It was covered with flags, streamers and decorations brought to us by young and old. People made special trips to visit us and see our flag. Each person expressed the same feelings we had felt as they gazed upon it.
Years from now, people will ask me where I was when the tragedy happened. I will tell them that I was surrounded, not by a chain-link fence, but by the love and patriotism of unfamiliar faces who became a family I will always be part of.
Jon Sternoff
Of Thee We Sing
“Hey, Jennifer!” someone hissed. “Get up!”
Looking up from my doll, I saw that other kids on the playground had d
ropped what they were doing and froze. Quickly, I rose to full height, clapped my right hand over my heart, and froze like the others, straining to hear the high-pitched trumpet signal the end of the day. Somewhere on our base the United States flag was being lowered, folded with solemn precision, then carried away in a clipped march.
When the last note trailed off, I tried rubbing the goose bumps off my forearms. What little I could hear of the melancholy horn had an effect on me.
Such was a small part of the life of an army brat.
At Saturday matinees, I savored the luxury of a candy bar and soda while waiting for the curtains to swish open. As soon as the screen was revealed, all of us army brats rustled to our feet, palms flat against hearts, and in respectful silence watched a series of patriotic scenes flash across the screen, timed to the rhythm of our national anthem. The last scene of our nation’s flag rippling in slow motion burned in my mind as the anthem closed with a rousing flourish.
When I was sixteen, I sat in an off-base public movie theater for the first time. When the lights dimmed, I watched the curtains with anticipation as they parted, then stood up, hand over heart.
“What are you doing, Jenn?” my date asked, yanking on my shirt sleeve.
Scanning the darkness, I saw that I was standing alone—and blocking someone’s view. Public theaters, I discovered, did not cater to the national anthem.
“Uh . . . I need to go to the bathroom,” I mumbled, before escaping to the lobby to nurse my chagrin.
Years later, I married a patriotic man, an Eagle Scout whose tender handling of our flag on Independence Day always brought tears to my eyes. He’s never served in any branch of the military, much less been raised in a military family. But scouting ingrained a love of our country in him, and every morning in his school’s homeroom he pledged allegiance to the flag.
Living outside the city limits granted us license to shoot off fireworks every Fourth of July. Two years ago, we injected a new family tradition to enhance the celebration. After the last rocket flared, my husband and I broke out singing: “O, say can you see by the dawn’s early light. . . .” We sang to our kids who sat open-mouthed in lawn chairs. We sang to the star-stitched sky, to wildlife, to neighbors within hearing distance. We sang “The Star-Spangled Banner,” high notes and all. We figured by the time our four kids were old enough to appreciate the words, we would have six times the joy of singing those wonderful words at the tail end of our street.
This summer, our oldest will know how to count all fifty stars on our flag. Before he even dons a scouting uniform, he will be well-versed in the etiquette of handling our nation’s flag—like making sure it never touches the ground and that the sun never sets on it.
Not long ago, I was on post late when I happened to glance at some soldiers standing stock-still, their gaze locked onto the horizon. Out of habit born of pride, I stood with my hand over my heart as faint notes spirited me back to my roots.
There they were again.
Goose bumps.
I shivered, knowing it was more than just the song that filled my heart.
It was my country. Sweet land of liberty. Of thee we sing.
Jennifer Oliver
I Pledge Allegiance to the Flag . . .
from the Bottom of My Heart
Our local public schoolchildren joined with more than 52 million students nationwide to salute our flag and recite the Pledge of Allegiance on October 12, 2001. I asked these students if they knew the meaning of the words they were saying, and they assured me they did! I asked each of them to share with the class what the words meant to them. Afterwards, I marveled at the precious creative gifts our children possess, especially when one child added the words “from the bottom of my heart” while reciting his pledge.
Children have an uncanny ability to lift our spirits when we least expect it. I am convinced that they are the ideal messengers for the true spirit of peace and patriotism in America.
I pledge allegiance to the flag . . . from the bottom of my heart. . . .
I . . .
The first word in the Pledge of Allegiance is “I,” and it means me, an individual. I am one person. I am a six-year-old American kid, and I am happy to say the pledge to the flag of America at school with my good teacher. It makes me feel safe. When I heard about the sad news that happened to our country I was in a good place: I was sitting on my daddy’s lap.
Pledge allegiance . . .
“Pledge” means to promise. “Allegiance” means to do it with love. When you say these words you need to put your right hand over your heart to show that you promise to love America. Some people don’t understand what saying the pledge really means. They just mouth the words. I will never forget the brave heroes on the flight that crashed in Pittsburgh on September 11th. One man understood exactly what it means to pledge allegiance to our flag. He made this solemn promise when he turned to the others and said, “Let’s roll!”
To the flag . . .
The American flag is like a banner with stars and stripes on it. There is not another flag in the world like the American flag. We have a paper one in our window because they sold out of the real ones at Wal-Mart. Some people have tried to copy the American flag, but they can’t get the colors right. Some people have tried to burn it, but they just wind up hurting themselves.
Of the United States . . .
The United States is the name we came up with when we decided to unite the states and get away from the British. We didn’t have anything against them, we just wanted to be on our own because we did not believe in some of the things they believed in. For instance, they believed in having a queen, and we looked forward to becoming a more modern country. We wanted George Washington to be the president. Well, we had to fight a war because they had never heard of such a thing! After we won the war, the British people became our good friends, and some of them even moved over here.
Of America . . .
America is a country filled with lots of history. Many books have been written about it. I have read about nine or ten of them so far. Many people died for our country because they wanted freedom for the press. You can be anything you want to be when you grow up in America. It is a free country. When I grow up I want to be a fireman and play a little golf in my free time.
And to the republic . . .
Republics are a group of people who work at the White House. They carry briefcases and have lots of important meetings. They swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. Republics are not Democrats. My grandpa is one but not my dad. I do not know about my grandma or my mom. They have never mentioned it to me.
For which it stands . . .
When you say this part it means to rise up on your feet. Do not sit down when you are saying the Pledge of Allegiance. It is not proper. Stand up and think about those who died for our country. Me and my family went to Washington, D.C., on our vacation. One day we went to the Vietnam Memorial to look for my uncle’s name. When we found it, my dad cried. He said my uncle was one of the brave men for which it stands.
One nation . . .
This means a country filled with praying people. We know this is a true fact because President Bush always says “God bless America” when he speaks to the nation. My mom and my dad say that President Bush is doing a good job. If you want to vote on this you can go to CNN.com and talk to Larry King or Dan Rather about it.
Under God . . .
This part means we are below God’s roving eye. God is up in heaven and he is looking down on us. We are right here—under him. We can trust God to take care of Americans. If you say “In God we trust” instead of “under God,” it means about the same thing.
Indivisible . . .
Indivisible means we cannot see it. It is also called the hidden truth. Only God can see what is going on when things are indivisible, but he will help us see the hidden truth if we only trust and obey. There is no other way, just trust and obey.
With liberty . . .
Libert
y is an awesome thing. It means freedom. We even named a bell after it. It is called the Liberty Bell. It got cracked once when someone was ringing it, but that did not stop our country from celebrating the Fourth of July. Americans will never let a cracked bell stop liberty. Let freedom ring!
And justice . . .
Justice means knowing the difference between doing what is right and doing what is wrong. Justice is the word for doing what is right. I do not know the word for doing what is wrong, but someday they will pay for it. President Bush has warned them that time is running out, and the FBI is closing in.
For all . . .
This means everybody is included. It doesn’t matter where your family lived before they came to America. Like me for example: I lived in Kentucky before I moved to Missouri. I am half-Mexican, half-Kentuckian, half-Baptist and half-Democrat. But none of that makes any difference because I am an American and I pledge allegiance to the flag from the bottom of my heart.
Jeannie S. Williams
I Am an American
I am a twenty-one-year-old college student from Rockaway, New Jersey. I did not personally know anyone involved in the catastrophe that struck our nation. Still, I feel connected in some way to each and every one of the victims, to their families and friends, and to the brave individuals who helped with the search and rescue. I, like all Americans, was overwhelmed with emotions. I was sad, confused, frustrated and angry—for many reasons. I had so much I wanted to say, but the words refused to come. I wrote the following passage to express my feelings and to make a statement. My thoughts and prayers are always with you. May God bless America.
I am an American. I am free.
I am an American. I am strong. Like our nation’s foundation, built by our founding fathers over two hundred years ago, I will not buckle. I will not be broken. I will endure.
I am an American. I have faith. I have looked into the eyes of fear, but I am not afraid. I weep because I am human, not because I am weak. My beliefs cannot be taken from me. I will never give up hope.