If God allows you to live long enough, you’ll almost certainly bear witness to history as it unfolds.
Born in the late 1950s, I’ve lived through many such moments - events that are now studied in classrooms across the country.
I remember watching the Beatles take their first steps off the plane at JFK. I remember the fear that gripped the world during the Cuban Missile Crisis as we ducked under our school desks.
I vividly recall the day we were dismissed from class upon hearing that President Kennedy had been assassinated - and later, the heartache of losing Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kennedy.
I was alive for Woodstock. I watched Neil Armstrong take that first dusty step on the moon. I saw (Ronald) Reagan survive an assassin’s bullet. And I stood with countless others, stunned and sorrowful, as the Challenger soared into the sky for the last time.
Each of these memories is a story of its own, but what binds them all together and the reason I’m writing this is the presence of a certain symbol.
A common thread runs through all of these moments: a piece of cloth with red and white stripes and a blue field dotted with stars.
I come from a long line of flag wavers, and I say that with pride. The sight of the American flag has always given me a deep sense of comfort and gratitude.
I’ve had the privilege of traveling the world - north, south, east and west - and I can tell you, we have it good here. Every time I return and see Old Glory waving on home soil, I feel a rush of relief and pride.
I’m the kind of guy who starts every holiday by carefully hanging flags and bunting around the house. I’m the one who picks up toppled flags from sidewalks and gutters. I keep a spare flag handy, just in case I come across one that’s tattered or worn. I don’t wait to be asked - I just quietly make the swap.
At the same time, I’m the guy whose heart breaks when I see a filthy, shredded flag flapping from the back of a rusted pickup truck.
I have no patience for those who try to claim the flag for one political party or another. This flag belongs to all of us. That perfect blend of stars and stripes, our blanket of freedom, is meant to unify, not divide.
So understand me when I say: I know what it means to be a proud flag-waver. But with that pride comes responsibility. Dignity.
The American flag, like the nation it represents, is indivisible. Its image is not a weapon. It’s not a bumper sticker for tribal politics. It’s a promise ... for all of us.
Charles Webster
Hamburg