Flying the Flag for Dad
When I was a teen my best friend’s dad was a draft dodger. Pacifism kind of made sense to me so I didn’t think much of it. But my father, who served in Vietnam, although kind to my friend, made it clear he had no desire to meet her parents. The draft was a complicated topic for my dad. He, too, found his own way around being drafted by signing up for officer’s candidate school. He then enlisted in the navy as an officer and served several tours in Vietnam in that capacity. All the men in his family for as far back as forever had served their country and while the draft was problematic, not serving was out of the question.
Ours was a patriotic household. My dad flew the flag on every flag holiday, being mindful to keep it lit and bring it in in bad weather. He taught his kids how to fold it and I can still remember where it was stored neatly in the hall closet. When I got my own house I got a toilet plunger, a fire extinguisher, and a flag. The hardware store essentials for a house. I flew it on flag holidays and folded it neatly when not in use.
My dad helped me teach my sons about patriotism. He and I led cub scouts. We taught flag etiquette, how to salute, standing for soldiers and veterans at parades, and visiting military graves to show respect. They learned the pledge and all the patriotic songs. They visited war survivors and heard their stories.
As he got older Dad talked more about his time in the Navy. He shared how serving during the Vietnam war had imbued him with a sense of deep pride. He spoke of how hard it was to come back to the terrible reception in our country. At best, being a Vietnam vet was not something people talked about. It was not something to be known for or proud of. Vietnam vets were not seen as heroes but as an embodiment of shame. My dad would himself come to be critical of the war but not of his service and of the service and sacrifice of his peers. For those things, his patriotism rang true and so did mine.
After 9/11 there were fewer and fewer flags waving in our neighborhood. Putting up a flag became a symbol of a political affiliation that my husband and I did not always reconcile with. So we flew the flag less often. My dad had a problem with this. He didn’t understand how a political party or movement could co-opt the flag as their own. He believed that your vote was private. The voting booth had a curtain for a reason, and that you didn’t get into a political conversation with just anyone, just anywhere. I guess I take after him in this regard. I don’t want someone assuming my political affiliation based on the flag in front of my house.
Now that my dad is gone I don’t fly the flag at all, come to think of it. He wouldn’t like this. He believed that patriotism is essential and showing your patriotism was at best an act of defiance. I’m not sure what my dad would make of our current political climate, but I know that no matter what, he would be flying that flag.
So I will fly this flag here. For those who have made complicated choices for the betterment of themselves, their families, their communities, and for this country. For those who fought in wars that they later disagreed with, and for those who did not. I fly it as both an act of patriotism and as an act of defiance. But especially for my dad.
