Flag Day: O'er the Land of the Free

Oh, Say Can You See...

Not long ago, like many Americans, I used to see the flag and not feel anything. More precisely, I barely recognized that it was there. It was simply some red, white and blue material hanging on a flag pole at the post office, the bank or outside a house. During parades or special events, I would place my hand over my heart, say the pledge of allegiance and sing the national anthem. I did these things because that is what I was supposed to do, not because I felt like I should or because I believed it meant anything beyond a perfunctory nod to ceremony and tradition.

Over the Ramparts We Watched...

Like many Americans, I experienced an epiphany on a bright Tuesday morning in early September 2001. It was beautiful out, I was late for work and trying to figure out a way to play hookie from the office when I turned on the TV and saw the great tragedy of our times. As I watched, I went through an entire roll of emotions: numb, confused, anxious, sad, angry. Over and over again until I was washed out. Finally, I felt the great swell of pride as "over the ramparts we watched" our flag rose above the ashes, smoke and ruins of the WTC and the Pentagon.

It was at that moment that I finally realized what Francis Scott Key must have felt when he penned his famous poem, standing on the deck of a ship in the harbor, seeing the flag over Ft McHenry still waving in "the dawn's early light" after a night of fearsome bombardment. He knew that "our flag was still there" and, thus, so was our country, just as I was re-assured of the same.

From that day forward, every day and every event, I have grown to understand the meaning of that flag and I have loved it more than I have ever loved it before. I have learned to love freedom and never take it for granted. I have learned to love being an American.


Gave proof through the night...

I now know that our flag is taken down at night to protect it from damage by harsh elements or those enemies who might tear it down and our nation while we sleep. Just as we are protected, day and night, by our military men and women around the world, while we sleep or go about our daily business, never knowing or thinking about danger because they stand watch.

Our flag is illuminated at night to represent "the rocket's red glare", as the flag continued to wave all through the night of that historic bombardment. It signifies the continuous light of freedom shining down on this nation and that it shall never be dimmed. I know that our flag is raised in the morning, not simply because it was taken down the night before, but because it signifies that our nation is still here, one more day, free.


Oh, say does that star spangled banner still wave...

I have seen our flag whipping violently in stormy winds, just as our nation has been whipped by the winds of war, struggle and controversy. I have seen our flag waving gently in the wind, from one side to the other, just as we have sometimes wavered, in what some call "inconsistency", as we have struggled to balance our ideas, our freedom, with the needs of a growing and diverse nation. I have seen our flag lay dormant, without a breeze to stir it, as we have sometimes done when we have turned inwards or experienced great prosperity, hopeful of a peaceful future.

I have seen our flag dragged on the ground and stepped upon by dissidents within our country who believe that we have not lived up to our ideas or believe that they have been "stepped on" by our government and our laws. I have seen our flag burned to ashes by our enemies just as they have hoped to destroy our nation and its ideas. It has pained me to see such acts, not only because I love our flag, but because it represents our people and our ideas and it is this that is being attacked, threatened and disrespected.


Yet, for all the damage to the material, our ideas, our freedom remains. They may destroy that flag, but they cannot destroy our nation, our people or our ideas. That flag may be gone, but I can turn and see it still waving over our nation's capitol, at the post office, in front of my house and on the neighbors house down the street. It still waves, just as we continue to survive and spread the idea to every new citizen and from nation to nation.



O'er the land of the free...

Our flag represents our nation. Not only our ideas, but the very people for which it stands. It is made up of many strips of cloth held together by a strong thread that can withstand troubled winds and stormy weather. We are a nation of many people, held together by the common thread of our ideas, strong because it was woven together for over two centuries. That all men are created equal, endowed, not by a king or a government, but by a higher force with "unalienable rights" of "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness". Like us, the white stripes would be nothing without the red. The blue field would be meaningless without its many stars. Each piece being equally important and serves an equal purpose: to represent all of our people. Without the thread that holds the flag together, it would fall to pieces on the ground, just as we would fall without the thread that binds us together. That thread, that idea, is freedom.


And the home of the brave...



I have seen our flag flying over military bases in war zones and peaceful nations. I have seen it flying over ships at sea from one end of the world to another. I have seen men and women in uniform saluting it in far away places with names we cannot pronounce. It did not get there because we are a conquering nation, subjugating others, but because those who serve under that flag have defended it, defended our nation, our freedom and the freedom of every nation and peoples at every point of the compass. That flag reminds them, where ever they may go, however far, however long, their home is here and remains forever free because they bravely serve.

I have seen our flag draped lovingly over the casket of fallen soldiers and old warriors who have given their last full measure in defense of that freedom. Our flag, representing our nation, embraces them one last time, in thanks for that service.

I have seen our flag folded precisely in a triangle, blue field with white stars facing out, representing the eternal heavens to which we have commended our fallen. It represents the eternal rest which they have earned through their brave service. It represents the eternal hope of our nation to remain forever free.

I have seen our flag passed solemnly to grieving families as the last material gift their loved one could give. The last embrace the brave shall ever receive as their loved ones hold the flag tightly in their arms. And, the final, most priceless treasure, one more minute, one more hour, one more day of freedom paid for by their service and sacrifice.


I have seen our flag absorb the tears of mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, wives, husbands, sons and daughters. "On behalf of a grateful nation" it comforts them in their time of grief. Their tears remind us of the cost to remain free and that we should be forever appreciative that these brave souls serve and sometimes die on our behalf, even when we have forsaken them.

The often quoted Thomas Jefferson once said that, "the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots". However, it is the tears of those left behind, absorbed by our flag, that goes straight to our roots, to our hearts and reminds us to be strong in the face of adversaries and troubles, to count the cost dearly and hold our freedom that much more closely.


I have seen our flag placed upon the graves of our fallen, on rows upon rows of white marble stone, in remembrance of their service under that flag and the sacrifice they gave to keep our flag flying and our nation free. It tells our fallen that their sacrifice was not made in vain; because of them our nation still stands. It signifies our infinite gratitude as on the first day when we laid the flag upon them and gave it to their family. Wherever that grave may be, from Arlington to Normandy, from Africa to the Philippines, the placing of the flag claims that land to be the property of the United States of America, forever free, bought and paid for by the blood of our citizens on behalf of our nation. That land becomes "the home of the brave".

Finally, I have seen our flag placed upon the shoulder of citizens who continue to step forward to defend our nation, our people, our ideas and our freedom.



Through this eternal cycle we remain the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Franklin K. Lane, Secretary of the Interior, delivered a 1914 Flag Day address in which he repeated words he said the flag had spoken to him that morning: "I am what you make me; nothing more. I swing before your eyes as a bright gleam of color, a symbol of yourself."

I hope, from this day forward, when you see the flag that your eyes will not pass over it, but maybe linger for a moment and feel a swell of pride as it waves above you. When it is presented, please honor it by removing your hat and placing your hand upon your heart in respect. Not simply as a symbol of our nation or in allegiance to such, but for all of those things it has been for us, for all the ideas it stands for and all those who have given us the privilege of living free beneath it to make of it what we would.

Long may it wave.



Find out more about our flag at USFLAG.ORG


- May no soldier go unloved

If You're Reading This...

I saw Tim McGraw on the ACMs sing this song. My brother recorded it for me so I could watch it on TIVO. I was looking for the video or song to post. Finally, Shelle Michaels from Soldiers' Angels, emailed it to me.

Tim McGraw honors families of fallen heroes. If You're Reading This...




- May no soldier go unloved

Letters from the Fallen II

In a previous series, Letters from the Fallen, Newsweek brought us the story of a Soldiers' Angels Fallen Hero, Major Michael Mundell and many others.

The second series brings equally compelling letters.

2nd Lt Johnny Craver

As I write this I think of you and know that if you do get this letter, you will grieve and wonder why. Don't grieve mom, be proud of me and hold your head up and tell everyone how much your son loved you and is going to miss his mom. Lie down at night and look up at heaven and tell me how your day was. I was an American Soldier and you molded me to be a proud one.

I will be waiting on you. So don't be sad Mom, I have died doing what I wanted to do. I died a Ranger!

Marine Staff Sgt Anthony Goodwin

Mom,
Finally was able to open the card you sent. I thank you so much. Looking forward to seeing you and dad both upon my return. I am glad to know that although my career path is at times difficult for you to endure, you understand and support my unwavering duty and dedication. I have chosen a rough path to say the least and it demands great sacrifices from all those involved. Remember, with great pride, that there are not many who are willing to give so selflessly, and those who do are needed and truly deserving.

Read the rest here.


- May no soldier go unloved

Rocks and Dirt

Via Thunder Run- Robert Stokely on the Little Things:

People think I am strange, some even think I might have lost my mind, especially since Mike died. They really look at me strange when it comes to my affection for rocks and dirt. But maybe they think so because they don't see it the way I do.

The Bible talks about God forming man out of the clay of the earth and that our bodies will return unto the earth when we die. David slew Goliath with a small, smooth rock, and the Romans attempted to seal the tomb of Jesus with a large stone. Pharoahs are buried in stone pyramids, and in times past, streets of the early towns of America were paved with "Belgium Blocks" - blocks loaded aboard sailing vessels in Europe to provide ballast during the return trip to America. Gold and Diamonds are just a few of the precious rocks man seeks, even to this day, and let us not forget that the difference between a well fed nation and one that starves is fertile soil.

But for me, it comes down to personal that are real experiences in my life. I like to tell stories about Mike growing up because he was so much fun to be around, and it was not a question of if, but when (an usually quite often) he would do or say somethng to make you laugh. He was full of life every waking moment. When he was three, he and I were spending the night with Momma Chris and Daddy Jim Overton. They were "my other mom and dad" and Mike got his middle name from Daddy Jim - "James".

Daddy Jim loved to cook, especially breakfast on the weekend. Mike and I spent the night there a lot qnd one Saturday morning, Daddy Jim fixed waffles and decided to add pecans to the batter. Mike, then 3, sat at a little table in the corner of the kitchen. I took the first waffle off the iron, buttered and cut it up and coated it with syrup - just the way he liked it. He dug in, but suddenly, and indiscrimantly, spit it out with a disdainful exclamation "PHOOEEE - dese things got rocks in em' !!" After we got through laughing till we cried, Daddy Jim and I tried to convince him it was o.k., they didn't have rocks, just pecans. He would have none of it and we had to fix him a waffle without "rocks". He was suspect of anything in his waffles after that.

When our family left Mike at Ft. Stewart GA after the departure ceremony for Iraq, May 14, 2005, I carried away a baggie of sand from where we last stood and embraced in a bear hug of love, as it turned out, for the last time. When we buried Mike on August 27, 2005, I placed a rose with a note telling him I loved him on his casket and kissed it one last time before they sealed his vault. As I walked away, I carefully knelt, scooped up some dirt from his grave and place it the tissue that held my tears. Such is in a drawer I open every morning when I get dressed, and I take a moment to remember, and touch the baggies.In the weeks and months after that, it became an urgency to have a small rock and some sand from the place where he died. I shared that with contacts here and in Iraq. One day, a manilla envelope arrived post marked APO Baghdad. It contained a note saying "from where Mike died" and two baggies, one with sand and one with a few small rocks. It is still a life mission that I go to that spot where Mike died and kneel with respect and touch that ground where he fell. God willing, I shall, no matter how old I might be.

In the last few weeks, I have driven hard to help get rocks for Marcia Kincaid, mother of fallen hero PFC Kenneth "Aaron" Kincaid. Marica is working feverishly on a memorial rock garden in honor of Aaron in her back yard. She wants to have a rock from all 50 states and any other country somebody can get for her. Just a simple rock (grapefruit size preferably, two if you can). She wants to have the garden complete and ready to dedicate by April 1 - Aaron's Birthday. We have ten days and she still needs some rocks - Oklahoma, Deleware, Maryland, DC, North Dakota and Alaska.

Rocks are cheap and priority postage isn't that much, compared to what she has given. My address is 100 Fountainhead Way, Sharpsburg GA 30277 (No need to keep this secret - I am too easy to find anyway). If you want to help, and don't worry if we get more than one from each place, please do so. Be sure to put a note in there so Marcia will know who sent it and can write you back.

Today, someone asked me why this is so important to me.

It just is.

Robert Stokely
proud dad SGT Mike Stokely
KIA 16 Aug 05 near Yusufiyah south of Baghdad
US ARMY E Troop 108 CAV 48 BDE GAARNG
and proud to the dad of Wes and Abbey Stokely

- May no soldier go unloved