Honoring Our Flag
From the desk of Paul Mendofik
It had been a summer filled with rain. Relentless at times. Summer days should not be remembered by cloud cover and precipitation to the extent it interferes with fishing, baseball and cook-outs. But this was our Summer, days more wet than hot. More dismal than bright. Just happened to be the way it was.
Some things are not affected by the weather…or the dismal cloud cover…or the indifference of passers-by who just want to stay dry.
We filled our vacation days with games, stories and gags when we couldn’t be outside. Summer vacations prompt certain activities that also include copious consumption of particular foods and beverages. Most, of course, would make Adkins Dieters and nutritionist cringe in horror. Hey it’s summer!
With copious indulgence comes the endless supply run. You know, the grocery store, the pharmacy for film and developing, the distributor for….well for beverage. My turn to navigate the wet road for re-supply came up again. A labor of love when the end result yields a laugh and whoops of “He’s back!”
I turned past the Kunkle Fire Company and drove onto route 309. Amazing how much traffic is out on a rainy summer afternoon. A two lane road just buzzing with activity. In ten minutes I had arrived at the store, list in hand and eyes examining the wallet for currency between MAC receipts.
A little of this…a little of that…and something that looked good even to me.
It was still raining as I began my return trip. A steady but not torrential rain Surely I was not uncomfortable in my cut-offs and tee-shirt. Traffic was still heavy. Then I noticed something on the road.
At first I thought it must be a rag in the middle of my lane. It looked soaked and its’ color was distorted. I would think that was because of the saturated fabric, various petroleum products it had encountered on the road, as well as a healthy dose of dirt or contact with a few tires. You can just tell when something has been there for a while. It has that unmistakable look. Then I noticed something attached to this rag….like a stick or dowel.
I was unnaturally fixated on what lie in the road as I buzzed along at some forty-five miles an hour. Suddenly, it was like watching Rod Serling’s Night Gallery! In a three dimensional image, this road thing seemed to become enlarged and sped right to my face. To avoid hitting it, I swerved sharply to the left, then the right. Horns were blowing and I could hear the gravel from the berm pinging against the undercarriage of the Jeep. For a few seconds, I sat motionless with a grasp on the steering-wheel. Cars whizzed by…no one stopped for me or the object in the road.
With my four-way flashers on, I stepped into the rain. I walked back on the berm for several yards. A raindrop ran into the corner of my mouth…another off the tip of my nose as I tilted my head down. I timed the approaching traffic so I could rush to this rain soak, dirty, tire imprinted item on the road. Quickly I scooped it in my hand and ran back to the berm. I could not believe my eyes.
It was Old Glory.
In my hands was the symbol of our Nation. An icon of freedom and democracy known the world over. A visual reminder of the bravery of millions and the blood they shed defending America. Yet, some who enjoy Her gifts most of all have cared for Her the least. There she lies quietly taking the disrespect and indifference of countless Americans this day.
I am not quite sure how some people can find the time to sit in front of a television for hours, yet not find a couple of minutes to pick up our Flag.
I am not quite sure how some people can find the time to indulge in stock reports, yet not find a couple of minutes to remember what the stars and stripes symbolize on our Flag.
I am not quite sure how some people can sit in a bar, music blaring, yet not find a couple of minutes to remember “….the bombs bursting in air….and our Flag was still there”.
I am not quite sure how so many people drove by as I stood there cradling this Flag.
Sitting in my Jeep, I realized the dowel attached to the Flag was significantly damaged. With a handy pocket-knife, I got the staples out. Not harming the fabric.
I folded it and placed it in my pocket.
Sounds of laughter and whoops of “He’s back! He’s back!” greeted me as I breached the threshold. Swarms of hands grabbing the booty I had brought. Murmured sounds of children’s voices…guttural laughter of two dads after a joke…a mixing spoon against a metal pan.
I disappeared in the ambiance and locked the bathroom door after I entered.
With hand soap and warm water the soiled colors rinsed down the drain. Red, white and blue were returning. Triumphantly, humbly, in the dignified manner She deserved.
“Uncle Paul, I have to use the bathroom. Uncle Paul !”
“Just a minute….Just a minute.”
A cold rinse and then a blotting between towels made her ready.
She has traveled with me to many places since then, always ready to be unfolded and displayed. What she means, what she will always be can never be gauged by size. She will be of such grandeur among any other flag. She only has to be what she is. Bigger than life and as eternal as this Nation.
Even when She is only 10 ¾ by 19 ¼ Inches.
FREEDOM
IS NOT FREE, BUT THE U.S. MARINE CORPS WILL PAY MOST OF YOUR SHARE
Saepius
Exertus, Semper Fidelis, Frater Infinitas
Often Tested, Always Faithful, Brothers Forever.
United States Marines