Growing up as a young boy, I always looked up to soldiers—to me they were superheroes. I would play war-games around the neighborhood, thinking that carrying a rifle and waving a flag would make me a patriot one day. I thought that was all that came with the title, and I was content with that. However, with another decade of life under my belt, I find myself more than content with the way I carry my country—even without enlisting in the Army.
Photo via by The A-Blast
At the age of six I begrudgingly enrolled in the Boy Scouts of America as a cub scout. I was terrified. I remember fearing ridicule from classmates if they found out that I dressed in a patch covered shirt and wore a scarf around my neck every Friday night. It seems hard to believe now at my current age that such things bothered me, yet I still hid it.
I would roll my eyes, bump elbows against scouts next to me and quietly recite the Pledge of Allegiance to myself as we all saluted and clustered around the American flag in the auditorium of our local elementary school. After every meeting I would run out into the dark followed by my friends as we hastily removed our uniforms and ran around in just our undershirts and the standard issue BSA scouting shorts. Scouting was for losers and everyone knew it.
Years passed as I went from campout to campout, casually leveling-up until I continued into the main branch of scouting as an official Boy Scout. I was forced by my parents to continue until I either grew visibly tired of it, or until their guilt trip that "tenacity builds character" failed to keep working. Dressed in a new, clean-pressed uniform and organized into a new group of young boys, nothing really changed. I still despised scouting. Instead of being herded by our parents every Friday to the auditorium, the other boys in my patrol and I decided to meet at each others' houses, alternating every other week. We still met every Sunday in a different auditorium, however.
Two years later the attack on 9/11 occurred and the entire tone changed. Nationalism was at the highest it had been in decades, so our troop pushed flag ceremonies at the local cemetery on national holidays even more. The weekend before that Memorial Day, we planted small American Flags along the front lawns of our neighborhood and made our separate ways back home, knowing that soon following we would be carrying banners and wreaths in ceremonial contribution.
When the commencement finally arrived, there was a much larger turnout of people in the audience. Many were dressed in their Sunday's best. Others proudly wore uniforms from age old eras. We calmly played our parts and placed the flowers in a symbolic vase at the head of the stage, then meandered back to our place at the rear and watched. As the sound of a lone trumpet playing 'Taps' resounded over the crowd, a rare silence responded that I had never experienced before. Everyone, including myself, was still. The last echoes of the brass dissipated, the emcee thanked everyone, and everyone quietly rose and filed out.
Photo via Midland Reporter Telegram
As I watched them leave I took out the few remaining flags that were rolled up in my back pocket and began to place them among the headstones. A few of the other boys in my patrol noticed this and followed suit, between the six of us we must have only had a dozen or so flags. Burying my last banner in the soil I felt a tap behind me, which turned out to be one of the veterans.
He was not old or dressed in an outdated uniform. He was not missing any limbs or covered in scars. He was simply a man in his mid-twenties, clothed in his dress blues. He looked over at my friends who were quietly leaving their share of the flags then thanked me for our service. I responded with the expected "no. Thank you for your service" and awaited his reply. He shook his head and pointed at the flag I had just left.
"No, man," he said. "I mean thank you for leaving those behind. Not everyone understands what it means to leave tribute on days like this." The look on my face must have been enough of a response to warrant his explanation. "I mean, that is not a veteran's grave. At least as far as I can tell. But, the truth of the matter is that he may have been as much of a true American as you or I. Who's to say that he wasn't a patriot?"
That moment stuck with me. Sure, the words are not exact, but that last part still remained true. After that point I took on my role with new life. The routine did not change, but I knew that the things I was doing inspired others to do their best. I stuck with the scouts and eventually earned my Eagle Rank. From that point on I did not scowl or hiss during ceremonies, but instead hushed the younger ones or told them to still themselves and try to understand that they were representatives, not participants. Whether or not that had any effect still remains a question.
These days the concept of America has become muddled by scandal and popular media as a corrupt and unbalanced entity, and that very well may be true. However, whenever I hear people say, "If you don't like it, then leave," I tend to get upset. Rather than force someone out of all the good things our country has to offer in spite of a single issue, why not seek to remedy the transgression? With Independence Day this past weekend, I find myself happy that I can be a part of this country. We may no longer be the paragon of morality and freedom that we would like to think of ourselves as, but that is not to say that we cannot be that way again. You only need to inspire others to also step up. Act upon your beliefs and do what is right, simply because it is right. Seek no recompense for good deeds and carry out your daily routines with dignity and respect for others.
So, take heart in knowing that you do not need to be a veteran or a hard fought activist, you only need to put forth the best representation of yourself as an American to be a patriot.
