Oh Say Can You STILL See….

It was my Father’s favorite holiday. By far! You would think it was because of his three plus years of service in the Army during World War II. He could, without a doubt, have easily recognized his participation in eight island invasions in the South Pacific as relating to those early defenders of our nation at Bunker Hill, Valley Forge, and Yorktown.

Perhaps those 17 days, and nights, he was cut off behind enemy lines on Biak Island made him appreciate “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” a bit more than the average citizen. I know, by his own admission, that he fell on his knees and “cried like a baby” in December of 1945 as his troop ship steamed into San Francisco Bay and he saw, for the first time in two and a half years, the American flag flying over American soil!

He had every right to celebrate the birth of our nation. He had offered up more than most on its behalf.

But I don’t believe any of that made him favor Independence Day over Christmas, Thanksgiving, and all the others.

Daddy just liked barbeque. And piping hot baked beans. And he loved a big slice of watermelon after he finished off a bowl of Aunt Beatrice’s peach cobbler. He didn’t philosophize much on world events or how things revolved in the universe.

He chose to enjoy the day with his family, the neighbors, the children, and the loose dogs running about. For a quiet man, he seemed amused by all the fanfare. He was caught up in the here and now.

There was nothing complicated about it. He lived in a great place, at a great time, among great people. That alone was well worth taking a day off to celebrate.

Certainly, he noticed the red, white, and blue bunting that adorned almost everything in, about, and around our little town square. A body couldn’t miss it. But Dad seemed more intent on the sack races and apple bobbing.

You might think him unaware of the struggles of those early patriots. Maybe he didn’t fully comprehend the Boston Tea Party, the midnight ride of Paul Revere, or the stiffening independent nature of those young rebels.

And then the high school band hit the first note of The National Anthem.

The change was immediate. And undeniably clear. Daddy went ramrod straight. His shoulders squared. Hand over heart. His eyes dialed in on the American flag. I will never forget those moments. There was just something about living in the land of the free, and the home of the brave….

Dad understood perfectly; he just would never equate anything he’d done….with the founding of a nation.

He was the most non-hero hero that I have ever known.

Well, that was 1956. Things have changed a bit since then. I believe it started when the TV networks discovered they could sell tons of soap bringing mid-morning drama shows to housewives across America. And then a bevy of folk singers in Greenwich Village began to make some noise singing protest songs.

It was hard to tell most days who was protesting what. And nobody has ever figured out the ones “in it” for the money from the group that just wanted to hang out with Bob Dylan. You talk about “Blowin’ in the Wind….”

One of them was a Communist. He didn’t give a whistling hootenanny about Independence Day. He might have been the reason things spiraled out of control in the 1960s. Young people let their hair grow long, learned to play the Sitar, and protested the war in Viet Nam.

Watergate popped up. Social unrest became the order of the day. News media began to blur the lines between reporting the news and giving us their opinion on it. Government grew bigger and bigger. Some welcomed that growth. Many hated it with a double dog purple passion.

The world shrunk. And that posed a raft of problems for America that could not have been foreseen by George Washington and the boys back in the beginning.

On April 25, 1976, two “protesters” tried to burn an American Flag in center-field at Dodger Stadium in the middle of a baseball game for goodness sakes! I have no clue who or what they were protesting or espousing.

That’s a picture I cannot get out of my mind.

It seems people have stopped asking “what can I do for my country….”

I could go on discussing the economy, appellate judge rulings, immigration, religious rites and rights, political correctness, tariffs, diversity, hooligans, left-handed Chicago Cub fans, and malcontents. But I must be boring you by now. You are certainly aware of the problems that beset us. They just never seem to end.

It’s enough to make us give up on America.

Almost.

But then the 4th of July arrives. And my back straightens. My shoulders square. My eyes narrow and focus. Old Glory still waves. And I am proud, thankful, humble….and BLESSED!

I discovered the real America watching an old soldier. When I was a young boy.

Respectfully,
Kes