I’m very patriotic, not quite certain where it stems from.
Could it be the Flag that waved from our porch every Memorial Day and 4th of July?
My dad was in the Royal Air Force during World War II, something he never talked about. When you think he more or less drank himself to death, it’s easy to do the math.
Am I a Proud American because of him you think?
Or are the framers the ones who straighten my spine whenever I hear the Star Spangled Banner, whether it’s from Arlington or a Yankee Game.
Is it Lincoln?
John Kennedy Junior saluting his dad?
All I know is, no matter what shape America is in, I still stand by her in full-fledged faith, believing she’ll rally since she’ll always be the greatest country in the world.
Memorial Day is in honor of all the men and women who served her nobly, without complaint.
My dad was in his 20s when he shipped out, much like the boys in Vietnam whose names grace the iconic Wall in Washington.
My dad came back, at least physically.
They did not.
I visit The Vietnam Memorial now and again, and maybe the tears I shed reading the names of the fallen, are what makes me that Proud American.
God bless them.
God Bless America.