Our Flag, My Flag
There is hardly anything more beautiful than to be on a troopship coming into harbor with all those American flags flying. I’m home, I’m home, I’m home.
From the time I was a 12-year-old Boy Scout, I remember being respectful to the flag that represents so many good things about the United States of America.
I am a first generation American, as were so many of my classmates. We were Scots, Italian, Yugoslavian, Mexican, Polish, Japanese, Irish and more. It was a great time and a great place to grow up, and every morning we recited the Pledge of Allegiance.
Some might call this brainwashing, but it was in gratitude for a country that would allow us to be what we could not have been if our parents had stayed in the old country.
We could be and were engineers, doctors, chemists, teachers, dentists, lawyers, small businessmen, mayors, senators and more. That is what the flag means.
I can arm myself with a firearm and no one can take it from me. I’m a free man.
My kids, grandkids and great-grandkids can go to any school or university they wish, for there are no class distinctions. I can vote for anyone I wish and I can run for office if I don’t like what I see, and I can win.