Our times are awash in flags, a lesson in respect
I love it when my grandson stays overnight. He bounds out of bed filled with energy. A reminder I have lost some of the vitality of youth. Mortality gradually becomes a part of one’s consciousness. I am long past a teenager’s sense of invincibility. “It’s Memorial Day, help me raise our flag.”
His mother wanted me to call him Alexander. Little Alex and I preferred Alex. She loved Hamilton, but she does not love history. I love Hamilton and history. Alex loves singing along with ‘My Shot’. Alex can’t read histories yet, being six, but he does like stories.
We walked out; the sun was breaking into a bright day. Alex helped hold the flag as I explained it could not touch the ground. We raised it up and then I slowly brought it back to half-staff. Alex noticed; Alex doesn’t miss much.
I said, “Memorial Day is set aside to honor those who lost their lives defending our country. The act of bringing the flag back to half-staff shows our respect.”
Alex nodded, “Can we sit on the bench?”
My wife thought a small bench was needed in our landscaping effort around the flagpole. She wasn’t a fan of having a flagpole in our yard. Concessions to her sense of design had to be made. As it turned out the grandchildren love the little bench, therefore so do I.
“Alex, would you like to eat breakfast sitting on the bench. I could make toast with peanut butter and jelly, then we could sit here and enjoy the beautiful morning.”
Alex thought eating breakfast on the bench an exciting idea. We were soon eating our toast with thermos cups of milk and coffee. Alex didn’t get a thermos of coffee. I want to make it clear I am a reasonably responsible grandparent. No grandchild has died or suffered serious injury on my watch, yet.
Alex asked, “Did you raise the flag on the first Memorial Day?”
“The first Memorial Day happened before I was born.” I could see imagining anything older than his grandpa was a stretch.
“When did you begin raising a flag?”
“Let me tell you about Charlie. Charlie lived on the same block as we did when I was a kid. We called him Cranky Charlie; he mostly stayed home. He worked in his yard and his garden. My Dad was one of his friends, but Charlie was much older. From my six-year-old perspective Charlie was like that guy in the Bible, Matloseafah. That’s how I said his name when I was six. The kids in our neighborhood called him Cranky Charlie or Old Cranky. He got real cranky the day Ben chased a lost ball into his garden. Ben broke off two pepper plants and a tomato plant. Dad had one of those serious talks with all of us. He helped us rearrange our playing field to keep the balls going away from Charlie’s garden. We got weeding lessons as Dad supervised getting his garden back in shape. I kept helping Charlie. Dad snuck me quarters, and I promised not to tell Charlie. I began to enjoy raising stuff. When we picked more of something than Charlie needed, I got to take it home to Mom or sell it. I became a small-time farmer. Over the next few summers, I earned enough for a cool bike and many model planes, cars, and ships. I was careful with the glue. Mom threatened to throw them all in the trash, if I got glue on the furniture.
At Easter time when I was in seventh grade Charlie’s wife slipped at church while placing lilies on a stand. She broke her arm. It was in a cast for several weeks. We were working in the garden when Charlie asked If I could help him raise and lower his flag on Decoration Day. I asked, ‘like at school?’
Arlington view back to DC
‘Yes, I need another person to fold it proper. Marge can’t help with her arm.’
‘When is Decoration Day?’
Charlie grinned, ‘Oh they call it Memorial Day, now.’
That was the first time I helped or raised a flag on Memorial Day.”
“Cranky Charlie sounds kind of mean. You liked helping him?”
“Charlie wasn’t mean but was what I would call gruff. He didn’t spend much time gabbing. He knew how to garden; he taught me. When we were finished, he might tell a story but would soon send me home. He said to keep what I was taking fresh.”
Alex has an endearing smile, “I like stories. I’m glad we talk. You laugh at my funny stories.”
“I do, you’ll be a master tale spinner.”
“I stop spinning when I get dizzy.”
“Always wise, let me finish telling about Decoration Day as Charlie called it. I agreed to come over at 6:30 for training. Charlie wanted it raised by seven. It was early, but Charlie was like my grandpa. He had allowed me to take more yard for garden. I found pumpkin sales in the Fall lucrative at least for a kid. My plan was to save four years of pumpkin sales and buy a car.”
“Did you buy a pumpkin car?”
“A car with money from pumpkin sales. When I was sixteen, I found a used Corvair. It wasn’t a Corvette, but it was a car. I rode my bike over to Charlie’s. We walked out to his flagpole. He carried the folded flag a triangle of blue and stars. First we unfolded the flag. He explained it never touches the ground. We then refolded the flag. I took the stripes folding a triangle back to Charlie, and he tucked the end in to make the triangle of blue and stars. I thought it was neat; we did it again. This time he sang, more spoke, lines from America the Beautiful. He added one line with each fold.
He used the cords, they are called halyards, but you don’t need to know that, to take the flag all the way up and then ran it halfway back down. I asked why just like you did.”
“Do you always leave it half up?”
No, only when honoring someone who has died. Memorial Day began to honor the lives lost in the American Civil War. Charlie told me he had a grandfather killed at Kennesaw Mountain. Charlie invited me in for breakfast ‘Come in, all this flag raising and folding is hard work. I’ll fix breakfast.’ I had never seen Charlie cook anything. We went inside, Marge said, ‘Thank you for helping, I’ll be one armed for a while.’ Charlie made toast and gave me a bowl of Frosted Flakes. He poured Marge another cup of coffee which she drank awkwardly with her left hand.”
I would offer him a cookie
Alex finished his toast, “We should have dessert.”
I smiled, “What do you want for dessert?”
“A cookie, we made extra cookies yesterday.”
“Should we come back out and eat the cookie here?”
“Yes, I like the bench. We should bring one for the gnome.”
In the landscape design my wife added a concrete gnome. “What if the gnome doesn’t want a cookie, he hasn’t said much?”
“We can share.”
We walked into the kitchen, still early, we wouldn’t get caught with our hands in the cookie jar. I kept telling about Charlie and Marge.
“Marge said, ‘You look so much like your dad when he was your age. My boy Eddie and your dad were best friends and had fun together. None of us had much back then didn’t seem to matter that we had nothing. We had food and got by.’
I saw a tear in Charlie’s eye, ‘Used to call them Mutt and Jeff.’
Marge told me what I had only heard whispered or spoken before someone became aware of me and stopped their conversation. In the war your dad was in the army, Eddie joined the Navy. I hoped the Navy would be safer, but Eddie was on a ship hit by a kamikaze. You’re the grandson we never had, and we are so pleased you come help in the garden and with the yard. I pray over that blessing of you living near us.”
“You weren’t really their grandson, were you?”
“I wasn’t Alex, but they didn’t see their grandkids much. They lived far away. They enjoyed me being around, but it made them kind of sad, too.”
I refilled our thermoses. Coffee, milk, and water are important for storytelling. Alex and I went back out and sat on the bench. The gnome remained silent when offered a cookie. Alex said, "It's alright, I'll eat it." He then gave me his cutest, I pulled a fast one smile.
“I helped raise and lower the flag from then on. Charlie put it up on Lincoln’s Birthday because we lived in Illinois, Memorial Day, Flag Day, Fourth of July, and Veteran’s Day. Charlie always called it Armistice Day.”
“What’s a kamiyazee?”
“In World War Two as the Americans came closer to Japan. In a desperate defense pilots flew into American ships. Human pilots became guided missiles, giving their lives.”
“That sounds scary.”
“It was scary and shows how war grinds up fear. The Japanese are allies now. Marge told me as Charlie put up his flag, he would curse Japan and Germany because he lost his brother in World War One. Marge and he talked; they began putting up the flag with respect for sacrifice and as a prayer to a better future for America. They saw how people get swept up in hate and wars, but everyone’s just folks as Charlie told me one day. Marge picked lines from America the Beautiful and would sing the lines as they folded the flag.”
Alex has imagination, “The good guys need to fight the bad guys. The bad king does mean things.”
“Real war is like that, but all the soldiers are just folks as Charlie said. War uses people to fight a fight that too often isn’t theirs. Marge decided they should remember the times America was wrong like when they forced her Cherokee ancestors off their land. The flag was there then, and respect meant praying for better when we were wrong.”
“Was Marge an Indian?”
1838 Trail of Tears
“Charlie said, her grandmother claimed they had some Indian, but he didn’t think it was true. He said, ‘Still, we done them Cherokee wrong’ We need to think of that as we show respect for the flag. I helped raise their flag for many years. Marge passed away and a couple of years later Charlie’s daughter came. They sold his house; he went to live with her.”
“Were you a soldier?”
“No, I started college then there was a lottery. I got a number that wasn’t called. We had talked as Vietnam grew and more Americans fought there. Marge supported Robert Kennedy and thought the war would end as I got out of high school. It didn’t happen that way. Charlie hoped I wouldn’t go. He said the big men all knew it was a mistake but didn’t have enough courage to admit it. It was winding down as I got my lottery number. I thought and prayed about it. My Dad never said much, but later said he was glad I missed it. I respect those who served, but it doesn’t mean it was the right policy.”
“Charlie moved?”
“Yes Alex, my dad and I helped pack Charlie’s stuff. Charlie handed me his flag and asked me to fly it as he had. I promised I would. I have every year. I fly Eddie’s flag; the one Charlie and Marge got because their son never came home. Our flag has only forty-eight stars is cloth and needs proper care.”
“It’s old.”
48 Star flag
“It is, but it still looks good. In my opinion there are too many flags today. A politician shows up almost buried in flags. Folks hide behind the flag with their uninformed patriotism. Alex you will learn a more complete history. Charlie said it was important to put it up only on a few days. It was a time of remembrance and reflection, and no one should live in the past every day.”
Alex pointed over to the neighbor’s flag, “There’s a picture on that flag. What kind of flag is it?”
“I think it’s a disgrace, but they have a right to fly any flag they want. Eddie and all the others who died sacrificed so they could. Several years ago, they had lights to display the flag. The lights stopped working five or six years ago. The last nylon flag faded; it looked like a surrender flag. They put that one up this spring.”
“You could ask them to put up something else?”
“I could, but it is their right to fly it. Those folks know little about history, but it’s also their right not to. They treat the flag like an empty sandwich wrapper; I don’t see any respect and patriotism. Tonight, you can help me fold the flag. It is the way Charlie, Marge, and Dad showed respect. As you grow when you say the pledge of allegiance, you will know the hurts and failures, as I do. I am still proud to be an American where we are free to do better.”
“Think Grandma is up now? She said we were going to the park, and they had bounce houses and rides.”
“I bet she is. When we take our flag down and fold it grandma can sing Marge’s ‘America the Beautiful’. It sounds better when grandma sings.”
“America America,
Oh beautiful for halcyon skies, for amber waves of grain,
for purple mountains majesties,
above the enameled plain,
America America,
God shed his grace on thee,
till souls wax fair as earth and air,
a music hearted sea,
America America,
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!
America America,
O beautiful for heroes proved, in liberating strife,
who more than self their country love,
and mercy more than life.”
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Now back to helplessly watching the insanity of our current world. Climate should be the first priority of every policy.
Novel Solace of Solitude & Null Stillness: Land of Spirit for a Barren Soul are available on Apple Books & Kindle — search for ShireSteve
Journeys begin, stall, end, begin again - I am not stacked or a sub, but I am stocky
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