Thursday, September 6, 2018

Flag Waving


I was on the Color Guard when I was a grade school kid in Estes Park, Colorado.  We had five different teams, one for each day of the week.  When it was my day, I had to wear dark slacks and a white shirt as a sign of respect.  It was okay in the mornings and afternoons before and after school, but wearing the dorky outfit the rest of the day was a constant source of embarrassment.

We Color Guardians had a training session before the school year where we learned to fold an American flag properly.  We were also made to feel terrified at the prospect of letting the flag touch the ground, or not acting promptly enough to bring the flag in out of the rain or snow.  I loved being at one end of the flag, stretching it tight, folding it into that little triangle configuration with the stars on the outside, and tucking it under my arm as I carried it into the main office.

I was also on the Safety Patrol, but standing on the corner with a white shoulder belt on while protecting my classmates from oncoming traffic (there was no oncoming traffic in Estes Park) paled in comparison to handling the flag.

My only regret was that I wasn't allowed to play the anthem on my trombone.  That job was left to Billy Checkas and his silver trumpet.  I will grudgingly admit that Billy, while a complete bust as an altar boy at Our Lady of the Mountains, killed on the trumpet.

Later, in marching band, I got to play the anthem at the beginning of all home football games.  In the pep band, I did the same thing before home basketball games.  Of course, by that time I was a junior and senior in high school and my rendition of the bass trombone part on the anthem was made smoother by the little sips of the vodka I had cleverly poured into my slide oil bottle.  Don't worry, I put the bottle in boiling water first.  The brass section of the pep band always left the games in good spirits, win or lose.

I was a full fledged hippy freak wannabe when I went to college.  There was a flag flying daily over the administration building (The Pink Palace) at Regis.  There were flags hanging on the walls in almost all of the classrooms.  And when civic unrest found its way to our pretty little campus at 50th and Lowell, the flags started finding their way onto clothing.  One guy had a ratty pair of jeans with the flag sewn over his ass.  Others wore flag headbands.  In a rebellious mood, I bought a green tee shirt with a green hued flag emblazoned on my chest.  I wore that shirt the day after the murders at Kent State when I alternated between weeping and shouting with clenched fist.

Later that year I heard the Woodstock recording of Jimi Hendrix' version of "The Star Spangled Banner."  I was thrilled by its irreverance, but more than that, I was inspired by its genius.  I guess my respect for the good old red, white, and blue was all but lost.

To tell you the truth, since my Color Guard days, I have always been skeptical of flag waving patriotism.  For some reason,  I immediately distrust anyone wearing an American flag lapel pin.  I always assume they think putting that little symbol on their lapels excuses all their people hating behavior the rest of the week, their votes against the welfare state, their conspiracy to protect what's theirs, and screw the rest of us.  I know that's an unfair characterization, but that's what I think.

The little lapel pin flag demeans the real flag.  It shrinks what it stands for.  On the other extreme, a giant flag flapping in the wind and rain in front of a mattress store is even more degrading.  It is taking the flag and monetizing it by using it to get around anti-billboard zoning regulations.  Of course, I suppose monetizing the flag is the most American thing of all.  How patriotic.

I have to admit here that I am something of a coward,  I was at the Bronco run Sunday morning hanging out with Bud while Kathie and Janet ran.  When some young lady started singing the anthem, Bud immediately stood, hand on heart.  I stood as well.  It was reflex, but mostly I didn't want to make Bud mad.  At baseball games, I will stand because I don't want to ruin the whole thing. But I always feel like a jerk.  The flag isn't what it once was.

Our flag flies over detention camps where families are systematically ripped apart.  Our flag flies over an Environmental Protection Agency that is systematically removing those protections.  Our flag flaps in the wind on presidential motorcades to tax payer funded campaign events where the President lies with every utterance.  Our flag flies over the killing fields that we call public schools because the elected representatives sitting under that same flag in Congress do nothing but rake in campaign contributions from the NRA, from Winchester, from Smith and Wesson, etc.  Our flag flies over botched wars in all parts of the world.  Our flag flies over the geo-political mess we have left behind in Central America and the Mid-East.

Of course, our flag also makes appearance in less fraught situations.  It flies over school assemblies, games, marching band contests, and the like.  It flies over baseball stadiums, boxing matches, horse races, and yes, football games.  And I see it flying over the Audi dealer across the street from the Y where I work out every morning (most every morning).  

And, once again, when I stand for a flag that does all that, I feel like a coward.


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