When Flags Fly

I am one of those patriotic souls who displays the flag year-round. If it isn’t on a door wreath, it’s standing proudly in a potted plant somewhere. Something about the sight of those broad stripes and bright stars makes me weepy and proud all at once. Always has; always will.

Despite what one might think, my rigid respect for the Stars and Stripes isn’t due to personal losses suffered during times of war. Instead, it is due to a lack of personal losses suffered during times of war.

You see, Old Glory represents something of great worth that I didn’t pay for. It is freedom’s signature, you might say. And the only reason I enjoy freedom’s immeasurable rewards is because someone else paid the ultimate price. Someone brave. Someone unselfish. Someone human, just like me.

Needless to say, I also cry and get goose bumps before the first measure of  “The Star-Spangled Banner” is complete. Oh, sure, the tongue-tangling words are difficult to remember and the melody is quite challenging to sing, but complicated or not, the song means something to me.

It reminds me of those wars I didn’t fight, those chaotic nights I didn’t endure and the shed blood that wasn’t mine.

Some suggest we establish a new national anthem—one that is prettier and easier to sing. But I hope we don’t. Freedom’s price wasn’t pretty or easy. The least I can do is learn a difficult song in commemoration.

No, I don’t sound like Whitney Houston belting out, “o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave,” but I belt it out just the same. My eyes never leave the flag and my hand never leaves my heart.

In fact, I have little patience for people who stand around with their hands in their pockets, chewing gum, looking bored while the national anthem is being sung.

The way I see it, if you can’t spend a few minutes honoring our flag and the brave soldiers who gave their lives defending our country, then you’re a spoiled, ungrateful brat who needs to find another country to live in.

Having the flag displayed in conspicuous places around my home isn’t just my way of saying thanks to those who died that I might enjoy a life of freedom. It is also my way of saying, “God bless America…through the night with a light from above.”

This op-ed originally appeared in The Dallas Morning News.