I often find myself thinking about my father, especially during Memorial Day weekend. It's a time when we come together to celebrate our country and honor the fallen who fought in wars to protect and preserve it. My dad was in the Navy, Chief Boatswain Mate and a member of the Greatest Generation who fought and sacrificed for our nation during World War II.
This day mean’t a lot to him.
One particular memory that stands out is how he would hang the flag. When I was a kid, I can still vividly recall watching him retrieve it from a hall closet. It was tucked away beneath some hats and a blanket, never seeing the light of day except on Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, and other special patriotic occasions. It was a significant event, the way he handled it with such reverence. The flag meant something to him—something important, something that many people like him had fought and some even died for.
I remember how carefully he taught me to handle the flag, allowing me to touch it only in a specific manner. I even had the opportunity to help him fold it…once.
It was as if he was handling nitroglycerin, so delicate and precise. Folding the flag involved a series of around five or six steps, almost like creating origami.
There were certain rules he adhered to when it came to displaying the flag. It could only be raised during daylight hours. Every Memorial Day, he would hoist it early in the morning and lower it in the afternoon. He would never let the flag touch the ground, fly it upside down, or use it as clothing or to carry things. It was always treated with the utmost respect, never placed where it could get dirty or used as a cover. He always allowed it to fall freely, never fastening or tying it back.
And he would never draw or mark up the flag in any way.
My father was, and still is, my hero. Apart from the unconditional love he had from his wife and children, he didn't have much else in his life. He was born into depression era poverty, worked hard his whole life and passed away with debts, far too young at the age of 70.
You come into this world poor…you go out owning money!
Yet he had an unwavering love for his country and what he believed it stood for.
And dammit, that flag meant the world to him.
So, as I reflect on this Memorial Day weekend, I choose to honor the flag of my father and the significance he attached to it. To those who now use this once sacred symbol of patriotism to hang it off your truck, tattered and filthy, support a fascist or to intimidate those of us who still hold it in high regard, I want you to know that if my dad were alive today, he would stand up and defend it.
He would not hesitate to protect its integrity…and he just might kick your ass!
Happy Memorial Day 2023 from me (and my Dad)