If you’re old enough, where were you during the bicentennial celebration in 1976?
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Guess where I was during the bicentennial?
My dad concocted a brilliant plan. We would take a family vacation west from Georgia to California since the rest of the U.S. would be headed up the eastern seaboard to visit all of the historical markers from our fight for independence.
Halfway between the purple mountain’s majesty and the amber waves of grain, he laughed as he piloted our brand new 1976 Ford Granada Ghia (light blue with a white quarter vinyl roof, the first car we ever owned with air conditioning, I might add). He laughed because it felt like everyone in the entire country had the same idea. We wore out a cassette of “Elvis Country” along Route 66.
While my mom shopped, I guess, Dad and I drank sarsaparilla, conducted a slow-motion gun fight at the OK Corral, inspired the writers of National Lampoon’s Vacation with our three-minute visit to the rim of the Grand Canyon, mourned the loss of Elvis when we pulled into a city where he was scheduled to perform, stayed too long in Lake Havasu City, and marveled at Chavez Ravine (please read this article about my dad and baseball). I won five dollars worth of nickels in the lobby of our hotel in Las Vegas, causing a massive uproar from the hotel manager and security since a seven-year-old played a slot machine.
Despite heading west, an enduring love of our country was kindled that summer, fanned into flame by my time as a Boy Scout. Cord wood was added to the flame by my dad’s officer’s commission into the Army, which hung on the wall of our home, and my time sitting on the bench for the DeKalb Community College Central Campus Patriots basketball team, whose minuteman painted at center court was far superior to the one painted on the side of a New England football helmet.
Years after earning my Eagle Scout, my son—one of my beloved strangers—spent some time earning merit badges before finding his purpose as a Tae Kwon Do athlete. On one of the weekend campouts, the leaders asked me to help perform a flag retirement ceremony during the campfire that night.
When flags are worn out, faded, frayed, or otherwise in poor shape, the U.S. Flag Code §8(k) says, “The flag, when it is in such condition that it is no longer a fitting emblem for display, should be destroyed in a dignified way, preferably by burning.”
You read that correctly. Burning. Most often, the flag is cut into its component pieces—the blue field of stars, seven red stripes, and six white stripes—then placed in a roaring hot fire during a patriotic reading, singing of “The National Anthem,” or recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance.
That’s a different burning than the kind we see in protest.
It was that juxtaposition that got me thinking. What would an American Flag say before being retired in the flames?
So here, on the front porch of our Semiquincentennial, I offer these observations written as the script for a flag retirement ceremony.
Note: It is customary during these ceremonies to pause and ask those who served in our armed forces to stand, allowing others in attendance to honor their service and the sacrifice of their brothers in arms. That would occur at the point where the branches are named.
If an American flag could speak to us tonight, what might she say?
“I am an American flag. I am mere cloth, thread, and grommet. But I also have a soul. It is the American Spirit that burns inside of you.
“I am red, and white, and blue. But I am also the colors of our country—the gold fields of wheat, the gray ribbons of highway, the green rolling hills and timberlines, and—yes—the purple mountain’s majesty.
“My sisters and I have flown for longer than 200 years. We have ridden on horseback during cavalry campaigns. We have been raised under gunfire on mountains in the Pacific. We have blanketed coffins vouchsafing the dignity of those that died protecting your freedom. We have whipped atop masts on aircraft carriers. We have mourned at half-mast. We have fluttered in the breeze on lonely cemetery hilltops. We have adorned the shoulders of scouts and soldiers, athletes and airmen. No matter where, we’ve flown under a sky created by Almighty God.
“I have many names. Old Glory. The stars and bars. Freedom’s flag. The stars and stripes. Democracy’s standard. The Star-Spangled Banner. No matter what you call me, I am the flag of the United States of America.
“Soon, I will be retired in the flames before me. A sister flag will take my place, waving above a building or in front of a home. When you see her there, will you think of me? Will you remember our time together?
“Some believe that flags shouldn’t be burned, except in protest. I do burn tonight in protest—protest against all dictators and totalitarians who squeeze dignity and freedom from their people. I burn in protest against Marxism, Fascism, and Communism! I burn in protest against cowardly terrorists. I burn in protest against all those who hate freedom.
“So stand up airmen, soldiers, sailors, and marines! Remember how you served—here or over there—Coast Guardsman, National Guardsman, Merchant Marine, and Space Force Guardians.
And you! Citizen! Rise to your feet now as well in respect for the freedoms won by those who served this great land.
“I AM THE FLAG OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. As I burn, may freedom’s light rekindle in you.”
Happy Independence Day. Happy Semiquincentennial.