I’m gone and there’s nothing anyone can do about it…especially me. By ‘gone,’ I simply mean that my days are numbered, and it really is up to people so much younger than I to help move this nation toward greatness. No, I’m not so naive nor so egotistical as to believe that I ever did anything to make a difference in America’s history. I voted; I served my country…twice. I bitched and wailed in a few newspaper editorial opinion pieces about this, that, and the other, but I really don’t think it made a hell of a lot of difference. Now I’m an old man who is widowed and whose children and grandchildren see little of. I’m tired and grouchy, cynical and curmudgeonly, but I refuse to give up on America.
It’s my understanding that Civics hasn’t been taught in public schools in a long time. I’d bet there’s no such thing as a Problems of Democracy course any more either. In my dotage, I can look back and say that neither course interested me that much at the time. I don’t really know how you convince younger people of what they really have and who they really are when [or if] they say to themselves, “I’m an American.”
Memorial Day is coming up at the end of this month. It’s a day of remembrance for all of those who died while serving in the armed forces of this country. It’s a day to remember Harry Hunt and Ed Hurtig. It’s a day to remember Washington Burns and Giuseppe Pialmo. It’s a day to seek out the monument in your hometown that lists the names of all of the men and women who died so that we might live the lives we do without fear of anyone telling us what we can or cannot do; where we can or cannot travel; who we can talk to and who we can’t. We are so blessed…and we take it all so much for granted. We wave flags and watch as the fire engines and the marching bands pass by. We might even spend a bit of time at the veteran’s memorial where some old guys wearing funny outfits and hats stand up and talk about their experiences in one war or another. There may even be a few people in wheelchairs down front, and some of them will have tears running down their cheeks before the whole ceremony is over. Other, younger people will walk away without really understanding of what was said or why the tears were shed.
How many of us have ever walked the battlefields of Manassas or Gettysburg or visited the site of the Battle of Pea Ridge or Glorietta Pass? We talk about our vacation to Bermuda or our trip to Paris or Rome, but have you ever heard someone excitedly speak of the time they spent at Lexington or Concord, soaking up the history of our nation began. Plymouth Rock may be no big deal to look at, but it is the place where a small band if dissidents came ashore to begin what we have become.
“I pledge thee my allegiance, America the bold…for this is my country, to have and to hold.” I wonder what was going through the minds of Al Jacobs and Don Raye when they composed the song, This Is My Country.’ Were they thinking about those who had fought and died? Were they just writing another patriotic song? It doesn’t really matter why they wrote it; it’s a wonderful song.
I’m not certain that today’s Americans know, understand, or even really care about who they are, just as long as they can have the latest electronic gadget; as long as they can get a medal for just participating; as long as they don’t miss the next episode of whatever it is they want to watch on some streaming video. Perhaps my message should be this: America doesn’t run itself. It requires intelligent, hard-working men and women who are committed to ensuring the nation’s future; people who put the welfare of the nation ahead of the welfare of their village, town, city, or state. America First is not just some slogan to be bandied about. Who is out there, what young man or woman, who is willing to work his or her butt off to ensure that our country will remain free and that its citizens will all receive a fair chance without regard to their race, color or creed?