Today is one of those days that really provoke some amazing ideas about our country and our love and pride for it. I think I'm lucky because I truly knew how much I loved Our Land before tragedy struck in New York.
I can tell you specifically which day I knew that USA IS, without argue, the greatest country.
When I was in 9th grade, our social studies class was given an assignment. The idea was, of course, to broaden our learning beyond the text books handed out on the first day.
We had three options. I know there were three and I can't tell you what all of them were, but I can tell you which one I picked: Interview anyone who has been in the forefront of a major time in our country's WWII history.
This could have been ANYTHING. Interviewing your Aunt on what she remembers about war time would have been sufficient.
I immediately thought of a neighbor of ours that my Pop-pop talked to allt he time. BOTH of them were from Germany and were held in concentration camps.
Yeah. Heavy. (And on a side note...I get physically SICK when I hear these dense FUCKS who claim the Holocaust never took place. Yeah, tell that to the fucking survivors. DICK.)
Anyway, my Mom said it probably wouldn't be a good idea because it was a sore subject AND they barely spoke English. Fair enough, I thought. Then she said I should interview my Pop-pop.
Totally!
This was looking pretty darn good to me, considering my Pop-pop lived right next door. Cool. I'll just bounce over there, eat some snacks with my Nana and talk to Pop-pop for a bit and type me a sweet little report.
Now, for a long time I have been the apple of my Pop-pop's eye. Seriously. When I was really young we hung out ALL the time. I remember every summer he would take me with him to collect money and hand out flowers at grocery stores. I thought it was SO cool.
I never really understood at my young age what we were doing. My Pop-pop was a member of the DAV, the Disabled American Veterans. We would collect coins in cans and hand out little felt forget-me-nots. Then towards the end of the summer we'd walk in the parade that ran up and down the main strip in Willow Grove. I can remember it SO clearly, but, for whatever reason, it never clicked WHAT we were doing.
My Pop-pop was in the War and it played a major part in his life - enough to follow him to his later years - enough to stand in the heat for hours, talking to people, for quarters. (I love him.)
So. I was totally excitied to hear him chat about the War and the Army. I got something more.
I learned what it meant to love a country.
Here's what he told me.
My Pop-pop left his parent's home in Philadelphia at an early age to fend for himself in the work force. Basically he thought of himself as a financial burden to his folks. He dotted the area with part-time jobs. He especially hunted for Help Wanted signs in any place that dealt with food - that meant a free meal during working hours. This was the depression. You did ANYTHING you could.
We declared War not too long after that and he enlisted himself in the Army to do his duty as a citizen.
The way he described it, I imagined a huge room, almost like a school gymnasium full of young men in undershirts and boxers, getting their physicals, and doing push-ups.
When it came time for my Pop-pop's physical, his health was excellent except for one thing: he had third degree flat feet.
The Doctor giving him the Physical told him that he was going to fail because of the severity of his flat feet and once you fail a physical, there is no turning back. You are rejected from the Army and can never enlist. (I'll bet a number of politicians would give ANYTHING for third degree flat feet. HA!)
My Pop-pop asked if the outcome would be different if he had second degree flat feet. Would he be accepted into the Army?
The doctor said yes, he would.
My Pop-pop said, "So, how 'bout you put me down for second degree flat feet."
This impacted me. My beautiful Pop-pop had to lie to help fight World War Two. He believed so much in what he was doing. He WAS going to fight in the war, period.
And he did. And he was in Pattons infantry and fought in The Battle Of The Bulge. He kept in touch with all of his Army buddies and is now the last one left.
He taught me bravery and honor and love for my Country. That is why September 11th broke my heart. It hurt me to see someone purposely injure the Country I love.
I think by sharing this, many other people will know they also loved their country far before it was 'cool' to hang the flag in our windows and cars and houses.
I would like to think the flag was always waving in our minds and hearts.
1:25 PM - Saturday, Sept. 11, 2004
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