When my grandmother died, my aunt and I somehow became responsible for cleaning out her house. This wasn't an easy task due to her tendency to hoard stupid shit and the fact that she kept items she found through her genealogy research and mementos of all her kids and grandkids.
It was worth it, though, to see what she chose to keep.
One day I came across two items that I never connected until recently.
The first was a ration book of my great-grandmother's. My grandpa would have been a young teen at the time it was issued during WWII. Half of the coupons were gone but the other half remained. I know that millions of Americans have much more intimate connections to that war, but I was born almost four decades after it. (Context: the end of the war was to me what 9/11 will be to children born in 2036.)
The second thing was a stack of newspaper clippings. It had all the things you'd expect- marriage and birth announcements of her children and grandchildren, a clip of my baby brother who was featured for his artistic rendering of the weather (a first grade project). Me making the front page due to happenstance when my junior high school band played at half time for ISU's homecoming game.
And then a letter to the editor that my grandma had written. I had no idea that she had such strong feelings about the topic but it didn't surprise me. That woman never had a soft opinion on anything.
She wrote that it should be illegal to burn the American flag, and again, this was not a soft opinion. It was harsh, bombastic, and unapologetic.
It was rare, if not unprecedented, that I disagreed with her opinion but on this I very much did. Flag-burning has never bothered me and, in fact, I think it's often a necessary statement. Stronger than turning it upside down.
It's not that I dislike the flag- I actually respect it a great deal. Like almost every other American, I was raised/taught/brainwashed to respect all it stood for. I recognized ages ago that it doesn't stand for waswhat we are, but what we could be. I like that promise. It's my overall goal in life to make us a More Perfect Union, knowing that I'll never see it in my life but I nevertheless have the tools at my disposal to try.
And so I have always shunned the “patriot" label because of the people who associate themselves with it. It makes me angry when I see a guy wearing a pair of flag shorts. Flag bikini's for women, are you fucking kidding me? Flags on tshirts, worn as bandanas, flip flops, socks, ties, jackets, dresses.
NO. You don't do that with the US flag! You're supposed to respect it. Take it down at sunset and raise it again in the morning, unless you have a shining light above it. There are rules about this piece of cloth and for whatever reason- maybe it's a flaw- I firmly believe we should follow those rules if we claim to pledge allegiance to it.
Then on my commute home the other day I put these two things together- the rations book and the letter to the editor.
I've always felt an internal distrust about so-called patriots. The guys wearing the grease and sweat-stained hat with the flag on it. The girls with the flag and bald eagle on their oversized shirt that they use as a nightgown. The football team from Boston…. They all make me recoil.
Because patriotism isn't about the flag. Patriotism is that book of ration coupons that my great-grandma didn't use just because she could. Patriotism was the coupons she never cashed in.
Patriotism was my Grandpa signing up for the Army Air Force (that was a thing) as soon as he turned 18. It was his younger brother lying about his age to get the same role and becoming a fucking *paratrooper*.
It was my grandma's first born son going off to a war he didn't want to fight in, and having it consume him.
It was my younger uncles who served in supposed peace time but still came home with PTSD.
It was me, when I was aimless and shifty and my mom tried to convince me to join the service and I told her I couldn't. I was able but not willing to fight or die for whatever people were fighting and dying for. A year later 9/11 happened and my mom sobbed about what could have been if I'd followed her advice.
It was me in 2000, at 21, casting my first ballot for Al Gore, and every year thereafter faithfully going to the polls for the greater good (I've missed three elections in my life- 2007 when my sister went into pre-term labor and I rushed to the hospital instead of the voting booth after work; 2011 and I can't remember why now, but I remember lamenting that I couldn't make it; and 2015, when I had just moved to where I am now and didn't know enough or have enough time to research the candidates in my new town.)
I know a lot of people who wear flag paraphernalia and it deeply offends me that they disrespect the flag like that. I know it's only symbolic, and that's what pisses me off the most.
Most of you will recognize me as a typical jaded Gen Xer. And I did and do disagree with my beloved grandma about flag burning. But I have endless sympathy for my great-grandma and her judicious use of the ration book.
Both of these things hit home especially hard because I never thought I'd be able to show true patriotism in my lifetime.
I never thought I'd be asked to sacrifice for my fellow Americans.
But that happened.
And I don't enjoy wearing a mask. I hate giving up my favorite pastimes . I still really want to go drink mimosas and play several games of pool or darts with my wife in a dive bar.
I want to go to the library and spend hours browsing each section without breathing into my own face. I miss spending the entire day, carefree, browsing the aisles.
But this is what I do instead: browse Library books online and place holds on them to pick up outside.
Go without a pool cue in my hand. Play a game of cards instead.
Be mindful when I'm planning my weekend. If I need to go to the hardware store, call ahead and make sure they have what I need so I don't waste any time.
Order takeout. Sunday brunch can't happen in our favorite restaurant, so we order takeout if we have Sunday off together.
I want a big ass Sunday dinner. I want to spend the day in the kitchen with my sister and mom and gossip all day long then serve a delicious feast to my nieces and nephews. Then I want to scold them for not eating enough and being ungrateful.
I want to take my youngest niece shopping, which is an absolute nightmare. I want to have petty squabbles about cost/worth of a product and be disappointed that she chose looks over function.
I miss SO MANY little things. Like dinner with family, shopping with kids, lazy drunken days with my wife.
THESE are all the ration tickets I didn't use.
Because I love every single individual that makes up my whole family.
I miss my friends.
I miss meeting strangers who become friends.
I miss spending the whole day in the library, running my fingers along so many spines of books I'll never read, but pulling a couple from the shelf that I will.
I miss my life.
I've given all of these things, all these sacred treasures, to my country, my fellow citizens. I've given and given and given, because that's what this time calls for.
But I'll be damned if I'm not ready to toss a flag in gasoline at this point.
I love this country enough to sacrifice for it. That so many flag-waving dickheads won't do the simplest thing makes me despair.
I am a patriot. I am trying to save us.
Take your fuckin' star-spangled socks off and join me.
Your flag paraphernalia tells me a lot, but if you have a mask on your face I know enough to recognize you as a true patriot.
And right now, what we need the most is true patriotism.