Flag-Waving

Memorial Day used to have a different feel to it and I'm not sure if that's because I have grown up or times have changed. I remember teachers in school using it as a springboard to discuss a plethora of subjects––patriotism, geography, war, loyalty, compromise, religion, history, tolerance and medical curiosities. We sang patriotic songs in music class. We read proclamations aloud at solemn school ceremonies. Widows and mothers wept. But the parades were big and loud, and men were proud of the part they had played in protecting the country and fighting for freedom. And we were proud of them. It was easy to confuse the bass drum's reverberations in your chest with your excited heartbeat. Two of my greatest life passions were forged at those Memorial Day parades: music and history. We were all on the same team and it felt good. It all boiled down to the flag in my young mind: the bigger the flag the happier and safer we must be. We gathered together underneath it, one people, one goal, one pledged allegiance, secure and calm.

I was born in 1955, ten years after World War II ended. Our life was comfortable, my world safe, and most of what I knew about the outside world was brought to me courtesy of whitewashed images on television and in the movies. My parents presented the rest in an optimistic, dumbed down, yet stiff-upper lip fashion. People were kind to me and I learned to be kind to others. There was nothing we couldn't "rise above."

Early imprinting: Grandma Barnes with two equally patriotic pals by her huge flag!

From that vantage point the nastiness of war seemed more unfortunate than horrific, yet we knew there was more. When kids are curious, uneasy or scared they are likely to play their way to some resolution. Consequently, both boys and girls played games of war, swooping around making bomber noises, diving into makeshift kid-bunkers, attacking the enemy on their weak right flank (Mrs. Welch's iris garden). We re-enacted grade B "cowboys & Indians" films, and the younger you were, the more likely it was you'd get the role of the scalping, whooping wild Indian. We used to don pretend gas masks before attacking a stockade fort, mixing Indian massacres together indiscriminately with the Civil War and World War One battles. It was all about fighting, death and mourning, and always culminated in a jubilant ceremony in which the winner slowly raised the American flag over his or her conquered territory. The flag was the resolution of the problem, symbol that all was once again right with the world. No need to fear.

Jared FitzGerald in Vietnam 1965

My oldest brother went to Viet Nam when I was in elementary school. I still didn't have much use for history or wars and much preferred playing house or dolls, and school. I couldn't figure out why men fought all the time instead of just working things out. But of course, Viet Nam changed the perspective of the entire country, not just baby boomers, and nothing was clear any more. The war seemed unwise to my immature mind, but it was scary, and I mostly turned away. I wrote goofy letters to my brother, listened to the occasional reel-to-reel tape he would send, and boasted about him being in the Air Force to anyone who would listen. All I knew was that my brother was in danger and many civilians were dying right along with soldiers. Oh dear. Hard to raise a flag over slaughtered women and children. Still, the flag was a comforting reminder of the freedom we were able to enjoy. It represented our ideals, not stark reality. You don't only wave it when times are clear and solutions easy. You wave it to show that as long as we continue to be a team, with common goals and compromise, we'll be proved right and all will work out–the founding fathers will be vindicated. I waved the flag, supported the veterans and was very, very grateful when my brother returned home. My other brother came of age later in the war, when things were not going well and it was apparent to many that it was an unwise war. He managed to avoid the draft. I understood how he felt, as well, but never stopped waving that flag. 

Today Memorial Day today seems rife with anger and accusation, one political party constantly accusing the other of sowing seeds of revolution. The memories are fresh and raw, and it's the veterans themselves who weep while recounting their experiences and mourning their fallen comrades. Waving the flag can seem filled with vengeance and hatred for the enemy, rather than a common rallying cry. People carry on banale conversations during the services, completely oblivious to why they have even joined together this day. This year, as a prayer was being offered, a man behind me said, "So, how's the potty training going?" 

Memorial Day 2010, "Family Planting"

While planting flowers at the cemetery this weekend it occurred to me that my strong positive feelings toward my country and my flag are ignored by many in the country. Half of the country believes that because I am a Democrat I must hate the flag, hate America, love communism, want the downfall of the United States. How can this be? I thought we were on the same team? I wave my flag more frantically. "I'm with you! We're on the same team!"

OK, yes, I have a thing about flags. I like big ones, and I'm going to continue to wave mine as long and hard as I can. After 911 I got a gigantic one that had flown over the US Capitol and donated it to my DAR Chapter when my term as Regent was up. I have little ones that I like to put in my garden on appropriate holidays. But I have grown up and now see that the flag is not a wand: waving it does not banish problems: that will take some growing up for all of us. It's time to stop the name calling, put on our thinking caps and come up with some positive solutions. Wave a flag to show your solidarity with the basic values of American culture. E Pluribus Unum!

With my brother Tim, by Jed's grave, two flag-waving Democrats.

Gravestone of my Irish grandparents, Patrick J. and Annie J. (Sullivan) FitzGerald, and two of their children, Mary and Frank. Daughter Theresa and her husband Hugh Bradshaw are listed on the back of the stone. Mt. Pleasant Cemetery, corner of Chestnut and Mystic Streets, 70 Medford St., Arlington, Massachusetts.

Marking the Day - The Terror of 9/11

Image via Wikipedia

Some details of that horrific day are starting to fade, so before I forget, a brief note for my descendants...

Myles and I had been married 13 years on September 10, 2001. We chose to go into Boston for a romantic dinner and overnight stay in a hotel. I think it was Mrs. Potter who babysat our sons who were 10, 8 and 4. So on the morning of September 11th, we weren't even home. We were enjoying a fine breakfast in bed on the tenth floor of a Back Bay hotel admiring the beauty of a cloudless September view of Boston. You could see all the way to Logan airport and we watched the planes coming and going, wondering how they managed not to collide. We turned on the TV and towards the end of the Today Show, Katie Couric and Matt Lauer (I think!) brought us the news of a plane striking the World Trade Center. Not many days before that, a small plane had crashed into a building in NYC, so no one was particularly alarmed, and certainly no one seriously thought "terrorist attack." They may have mentioned terrorism, but the media is always trying to jack us up emotionally, and we were used to dismissing their excited chatter as the usual hype.

It was when the second plane hit that it sunk in. From that point on, we were riveted to the TV, occasionally switching channels to make sure Katie and Matt weren't hallucinating. Information was coming in from so many sources that no one had time to vett it and certainly couldn't make any sense out of it. They announced that air traffic was being halted all across the country. Glancing out the windows again we found the view of Boston was now eerily still. A city frozen in fear. I started feeling a bit vulnerable up there on the tenth floor, and wanted to leave, but Myles wanted to watch events unfold, and swept aside my anxiety with a dismissive, "Oh, relax!" News of a third hijacked plane came in. Accounts varied as to where it might be headed. the White House, the Pentagon, the Capitol?

It wasn't until the first tower collapsed that we looked at each other and started moving. We got a call from the desk telling us the hotel was being evacuated and we should check out right away. We hustled downstairs but instead of checking us out they just waved us away, barking out, "Just go! Go!" There were lots of people standing on the street, and police everywhere. Later we found out that the hotel was evacuated because they had already traced some terrorist suspects to the 9th floor, just one floor beneath us.

We had come in separate cars and I was really freaked out driving home alone in heavy traffic on the Mass. Turnpike. I called Myles and we stayed on the phone during the ride, silent, listening to radio accounts. All I could think of was that my little quiet town of Shrewsbury would never be a target for this sort of attack. I wanted to be near my children. Even if they were only in school, I needed that proximity so that if I had to I could even walk over to get them. It was listening to the radio in the car that really made me very afraid. They were following the course of the plane over Pennsylvania and trying to predict where it was headed. It just felt at that moment like someone was targeting everything we Americans look to for authority and protection. How many planes had been hijacked? Five, ten, fifty? Which news accounts were true, and which were panic? I already felt the psychological damage this would have on our country.

The stark irony of that gorgeous blue sky portending such danger was impossible to reconcile. We watched TV all day. They recommended that we prepare children, yet keep them away from the broadcasts. We greeted them as they got off the bus and tried to brace them for turmoil. Then for days and days Americans watched as the full horror unfolded. More and more accounts came in. The Pentagon, the plane in PA, all of the people lost in NY, makeshift memorials, relatives and friends pleading for information. And so many tears. We were totally vulnerable and bewildered. The whole nation was depressed, lifted occasionally by stories of great heroism.

September 11th, 2001 marks a vast division in the psyche of the nation. Before that date, most people had heard about terrorist attacks but pretty much ignored them because they did not take place on American soil. Newscasters would report disasters overseas only by relating how many Americans were killed. We were an insular, self-absorbed country, trusting that our own goodness would keep us safe. But when you stop being vigilant about your actions, and not protecting yourself, you are likely to get hurt.

I've lived in several foreign countries. When I lived in Italy in the late 70s and early 80s, I found out what it is like to know that terrorist attacks may strike. You just go on living –– but if a terrorist does strike, it does not have the devastating effect of shock as 9/11 did on Americans. It had never actually occurred to most people that we could become victims. Coming back to live in America, I knew it was just a matter of time. Our borders seemed wide open compared to those of other countries. If you read the newspapers, you were aware that there were many groups who hated or blamed the United States and the Western world in general for just about anything they didn't like. Fundamentalism, poverty and ignorance had combined to create a steaming cauldron of rage. I wasn't shocked, just petrified.

A chasm separates the day of our 13th anniversary, September 10, 2012,  from September 11th. Like Adam and Eve gazing down at their own nakedness, we are now cognizant of both our own vulnerability and aware that we have some accountability. We moved forward with ideas on how best to protect ourselves that mark a political split as well. We are now a nation sharply divided, driven to extremes by the intense fear of that day. I just hope that one day our great nation came come together on those values that we share, which are many more than divide us, and work together to keep America safe.