During much of my youth America had been at war. Not just in South East Asia but here at home as well. We were a country divided. Violent anti-war protests were common place in the late sixties and by the early seventies America's children were not only dying overseas but right here on our own college campuses.
As expected, I picked my side and did what any 14 year would do in my shoes, I resented the military and any and all authority. I joined what had been fashionable at the time, the Peace Movement. I read many books, listened to the returning vets stories, went to lectures and knew in my very young heart that this was not a country to be proud of, so I thought.
Radicals of the time used our flag as a means of expression, the power of symbols is not to be underestimated. I knew I loved what America could stand for, the greatness with which it was founded and considered the Movement to be an act of patriotism at its purest. My heroes, The Yippies, The Black Panther Party, the Weather Underground, the SDS, were fighting the War at home and I wanted to be a part of that.
It was in that spirit that I took my Grandfather's 48 star American Flag and used it as a bedspread. How cool is that I thought. One evening my dad, a veteran of WWII burst into my room, he rarely ventured down the hall and had caught me off guard. When he saw the flag on my bed he flipped out, threw me against the wall and held me up by my throat. " What the fuck is this" he screamed while hitting me in the face with his free hand, "That flag means more to me then you."
I learned much later in life of the horrors my father suffered during the war, the loss of his brothers and friends had left him permanently scared, invisible to me at the time of course.
Thousands of soldiers over the years have given their lives for what our flag represents and for that I am grateful. I do not consider this day to be a cerebration but a day of gratitude and remembrance for all who have given the ultimate sacrifice at home and abroad.
As expected, I picked my side and did what any 14 year would do in my shoes, I resented the military and any and all authority. I joined what had been fashionable at the time, the Peace Movement. I read many books, listened to the returning vets stories, went to lectures and knew in my very young heart that this was not a country to be proud of, so I thought.
Radicals of the time used our flag as a means of expression, the power of symbols is not to be underestimated. I knew I loved what America could stand for, the greatness with which it was founded and considered the Movement to be an act of patriotism at its purest. My heroes, The Yippies, The Black Panther Party, the Weather Underground, the SDS, were fighting the War at home and I wanted to be a part of that.
It was in that spirit that I took my Grandfather's 48 star American Flag and used it as a bedspread. How cool is that I thought. One evening my dad, a veteran of WWII burst into my room, he rarely ventured down the hall and had caught me off guard. When he saw the flag on my bed he flipped out, threw me against the wall and held me up by my throat. " What the fuck is this" he screamed while hitting me in the face with his free hand, "That flag means more to me then you."
I learned much later in life of the horrors my father suffered during the war, the loss of his brothers and friends had left him permanently scared, invisible to me at the time of course.
Thousands of soldiers over the years have given their lives for what our flag represents and for that I am grateful. I do not consider this day to be a cerebration but a day of gratitude and remembrance for all who have given the ultimate sacrifice at home and abroad.
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