Build me up buttercup…

I had this idea a few weeks ago to describe what I felt patriotism was or what it embodied… or, at best, question the current definition of patriotism.  TIME magazine, however, beat me to the punch.  I will not compare/contrast Obama to McClain in terms of who is the most patriotic, but will examine what patriotism IS to us, now.

When I think about patriotism, I envision peasants with pitchforks and torches storming the Bastille in Paris to protest painfully high taxes and food shortages, or farmers protecting their land from foreign invasion.  In modern times, when we reference “patriotism,” it is usually attached to the IDEA of flying or displaying a flag and taking off your hat during the National Anthem.  Most recently, patriotism has been attached to reciting the Pledge of Allegiance and wearing a flag pin.

When Americans experienced the aftermath of 9/11, I don’t ever recall seeing patriotism demonstrated or displayed with as much vim and vigor before.  Sure, we’ve had moments in the past 30-50 years in which we proudly held our flags over our head as we randomly sang the Anthem in public places as the mood struck.  However, just as with 9/11, these are just fleeting moments of patriotism that shows itself during times of duress… to let the enemy know that even though we will protest each other’s views and opinions, the majority of the populace WILL band together during times of crisis.  What I envision is older siblings joining together to defend the younger who was just brutally beaten by a group of bullies.  We puff out our chests and verbalize our patriotism with “We’ll kick your ass,” and “don’t mess with Americans” chants that slowly subside when we find something else to fight about.

I still have my flag stickers on my car windows.  I still hang my flag outside of my house.  I still have my flag pin which I wear when I feel the moment warrants it.  In a drawer, I have the red-white-and-blue ribbon we wore at my old school in the days and weeks following the attacks.  I still have one of them hanging in my car.  Deep down inside, my patriotism runs deep and sometimes quietly.  I am proud to be an American.  I am not, however, proud to be a part of a political system that neglects the needy while trillions are poured into a war effort that has exceeded its expiration date.

My father is a Vietnam War vet.  My great-grandfather a WW1 vet.  My uncle was a Korean War vet.  I have several friends who fought in Persian Gulf I and Somalia.  I always give the right of way to men and women in uniform out of respect.  I do not blame soldiers and sailors for war, because I can differentiate between a duty/obligation and a politically motivated strategic move.  These individuals did not start the war, nor will they end it.  That’s where the political machine comes in and reeks havoc with the players.

My father rarely talks about Vietnam.  On occasion, if the situation fits, he’ll give us an inkling about what he experienced, but no more than that.  He did tell me once that when he was finally discharged after serving 4 years in the US Navy, that he was afraid to wear his uniform home because he heard stories about people attacking servicemen.  That was 1964.

That was over 40 years ago.

Now, we smile at them nervously as they meander through airports or in other public areas.  Perhaps, a person here or there will buy them coffee or say “thank you” while shaking their hand.  I’ve seen WW2-generation men, presumably veterans themselves, shake hands with young servicemen and women, telling them that they are proud of them.  I saw this in Tucson when I was there at Christmas.  A man, maybe in his late 80s, dressed in white pants and a blue-and-white pinstriped button-down and a white cardigan, proudly displaying his American Legion hat with his ship’s insignia on it approach two young airmen, who looked like they were just out of training, and shook their hands.  He proudly pushed out his chest and pointed to his hat as he spoke.  He told them that he was extremely proud of them and to always remember that they are doing this for their country.  With that, he patted one on his back and nodded at the second before shuffling his way down the corridor of the mall.

I sat there, feel goose-bumpy, smiling at what I had just seen.  How proud they looked when he shook their hands, how patriotic they seemed.  Until I lost sight of them as they walked the opposite way through the mall, I saw their smiles.  THEY were proud to be airmen right at that moment.

But, I’m sure in an hour or two, their smiles faded and they went back to whatever they were doing before their encounter at the mall.

Patriotism is like those stickers that fade when you remove your finger.  The self-righteous pride we feel when we experience a moment fades when life crawls back in.

About 15 years ago, I interviewed five WW2 veterans for a paper I chose to do while I was an undergrad.  When I called the American Legion in town, they were ecstatic to help me with my paper.  When I arrived (with my husband, our two babies at home with my mother), a LONG line of veterans from WW2, Korea, and Vietnam waited to shake our hands.  I felt tingly and misty as I listened to the five men tell me about their stories.  All the while, I knew that there were more stories to tell and a need for people to listen.  After nearly four hours of sipping soda and munching on pretzels (graciously provided by the Legionnaires), I turned off my tape recorder and gathered my papers.  They all lined up to shake our hands again.  When I got to the last person, a Vietnam War vet, he pulled me aside and thanked me for coming by.  He said, “These men need to feel validated, that what they did during the wars was justified and appreciated.”  It was.  Most definitely.

After WW2, patriotism during war seems so wrong.  A feeling/emotion that is eradicated by visions of civilian suffering at the hands of the enemy and ourselves.  And, in turn, patriotism has turned into this THING… the pink elephant or an “indescribable thing” that has rules and regulations, descriptions and borders, so much so that it seems to have lost its “feeling.”

Can you FEEL patriotism?  See it?  Smell it?  Touch it?  Hear it?

I think so.  I felt patriotic sitting in the Legion listening to the tales of these men, some who were present when their units liberated concentration camps, and one who survived Pearl Harbor.  I saw it on the face of the elderly man who shook the hands of young airmen who probably haven’t seen battle yet.  I can smell (or sense) patriotism, like during 9/11 when there was this “air” of emotion so thick we couldn’t slice it with a chain saw.  Hear it?  I hear it every 4th of July when the parade makes its way through my town, firetruck horns blaring and sirens screaming, or during the fireworks that explode overhead in celebration of our independence from Britain.

Due to this most recent primary election, with media outlets questioning the patriotism of this or that person who either did or didn’t wear a flag pin or maybe didn’t stand at attention during the Pledge.  I think we’ve been so inundated by what patriotism IS to others that we may have lost our own patriotism along the way.

I am patriotic.  And, although I don’t prescribe to this notion that we have to EXHIBIT it all of the time… I still fly my flag on the front of my house, my car still has flag stickers in the windows, and I still have my flag pin.  When I taught h.s., I made EVERY student stand up for the pledge.  And, in a bold Anti-PC move, I infringed on a few kids’ 1st Amendment right to not recite the pledge.  Why?  It’s bullshit.  (And, this is where my 1st Amendment differs with your’s.)    I’m not worshipping the flag, I am honoring all of the men and women who have fought for MY freedom and the freedom of millions of others.  I am honoring the Founding Fathers and other patriots who died to gain their freedom.  For the millions of slaves who waited 200+ years to be free.  For the thousands of men and women who were beaten, lynched, and killed because of their color.  For the people who were spit upon and denied equality.  For women and their fight for equality.  For children and their right to be safe and secure.  Out of appreciation for those who walked the walked and were killed for their beliefs.  THAT’S who I recite the Pledge for.  I don’t do it because I have to, I do it because I want to.  And, in turn, as a History teacher, I teach my students to respect the flag because it symbolizes what patriotism was, what it could be, what it should be.  And, between the stripes and stars, the red-white-and-blue, I still see peasants with pitchforks and torches, and farmers holding their muskets.

Truly what I want patriotism to be is what I want it to be for everyone.  The remembrance and respect for those who have passed before us, fulfilling their obligation and duty so that WE can be free.

And, if that is not good enough, then you need to seek your own vision for what patriotism should be.

In the meantime, I want to truly thank the veterans of war and those still fighting for their work, dedication and suffering… because patriotism does not come without any of those.  And, to the families of soldiers, sailors and airmen… I stand besides you in heart and mind as your loved ones are sent off to war.

“There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
(John 15:13, NLT)