For eight years now the flagpole holder above our garage has remained empty. I know for a fact that the guy who owned the house before us didn't put up a flag, either, during his five years here. The occupant before him, the original homeowner—the house was built in '99—must’ve had a flag displayed, since presumably it was this person who installed the flagpole bracket to begin with.
Every year, in the run-up to 4th of July, I think about putting the flagpole holder to actual use and sticking a flag in it. Why not? It's there already.
But the problem is you can't display an American flag without making some kind of political statement. Athletes are the only people who get a pass, and only if they're Olympians or play for a U.S. national team, in which case the line is blurred between their national pride and team pride.
For all others, flag-waving is a political act. If you have the Stars and Stripes waving outside your house, or stuck to your car bumper, or displayed anywhere regularly visible to the public, then the average person assumes you’re a loyal viewer of Fox News, to put it one way. Or, to put it another way, you probably think we should do something to secure our southern border with Mexico and stem the tide of dark-faced foreigners pouring into the country. You probably own a gun, or two, or a small arsenal, or you’re thinking of getting your hands on one soon; at the very least you're probably not opposed to any law-abiding citizen owning semi-automatic rifles and other weapons of mass murder (not that I'm opposed to it, either).
Maybe you're a cop, or a firefighter, or some other kind of government official—someone who supports the System, agrees with the status quo, or even misses the way things used to be in this country—socially, politically. You have high regard for the Law, and Order, and Tradition. Needless to say, you probably believe in God, or pretend to.
And if you're not a conservative but still display the Red, White and Blue, then I bet you're a centrist, a Clinton-Obama Democrat who isn’t for a second considering NOT voting to reelect Biden this year. (“Blue no matter who,” right?)
I don't want my neighbors thinking I'm a Republican, or worse . . . a proud Democrat.
But I do consider myself a patriot, to some extent. I love this country (for the most part): its basic principles, and its multicultural makeup.
My love for America is not a shallow, easy love, either; it comes from studying her, learning as much as I can about her. I'm confident my knowledge of this country—its history, its geography, its culture—extends way beyond the norm, especially within my under-40 cohort. I can identify the 50 states on a blank map, for instance. I can list the presidents in order from Washington to Rutherford B. Hayes, and then from McKinley to Biden. (My memory’s sometimes fuzzy in the middle there, what with Cleveland serving those two non-consecutive terms.) I can recite the Preamble first thing in the morning, and I never forget the words to "The Star-Spangled Banner"—I even know who wrote the lyrics, where he wrote it, and which Great American author was his distant relative.
But while I can sing the national anthem without any help, I don't get teary-eyed when someone belts it out before a sports event and a flag flutters in the breeze up on the jumbotron. Nor do I feel a surge of pride or reverence when I see Marines in their dress blues, even though my own brother is a Devil Dog himself, and my mom and dad served too (her in the Navy, him, the Army). I usually thank a vet for his service to the country if his hat says he served in Nam or World War II, but never anyone who has served since—partly because America's more recent wars have been blatant rackets, but mostly because I’ve seen the hollow look on my brother's face when some well-meaning stranger thanks him for his "service" in Iraq.
My dad went on to be a cop with Chicago PD after his time in West Germany, but that don't mean I “respect the badge,” either. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Maybe that's it then: maybe that's why I'm reluctant to hang a flag outside my house, despite my patriotism—I just don't believe in symbols. That includes symbolic gestures, and oaths of allegiance to symbols. When I was Catholic, I thought a crucifix was a weird symbol for Christians to pray to and hang around their necks. (I mean, shouldn’t Jesus’s followers be focusing less on how he died and more on how he lived?) And as an American, I find it not only odd but wholly un-American for self-described freedom-loving people to swear allegiance to mere symbols, even America's symbol, the flag.
I'm hearing Carlin now . . .
That's why I'm not putting up no flag this 4th of July, or ANY 4th for the foreseeable future—I don't want people thinking I'm so “symbol-minded.” I love this country, MY country—not always what it does (rarely, in fact), but what it is and what it still could be. Italy is great, beautiful, idyllic, but it doesn't have the same potential America has. It and China and Denmark can never be what America is, just as I could never be who my wife and my brother are. It's not "in my DNA," as they say, or "in the stars."
I love America, but fuck a flag. America ain't no 13 stripes and 50 stars; it ain't red, white and blue. America ain't bald eagles—they got them down in Mexico, too . . . and even more in Canada!
And America ain't Jesus or apple pie, neither, just so we're clear.
No, America isn't in any of those things. America's just too big to be contained by a symbol, mascot, or token. To be honest with you, I’m not sure what “America” means, per se. But I do know that I feel it in me, deep down in my guts.
And so I say, as a patriot—granted, of the Edward Abbey kind: Happy birthday, you big, beautiful, crazy-vicious bitch you! And here's to many more!