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Country boy
If you knew nothing else of the world, if you were just 5 or 6 or 10 years old, and this place was your only America, you wouldn't have any reason at all to question the Narrowsburg School's Morning Program routine. Hand over heart, my son belted out the Pledge with gusto every morning and memorized and sang "The Star-Spangled Banner." I never stopped resisting the urge to sit down in silent protest during the Pledge. But I also never failed to get choked up when they sang "America the Beautiful."
Listening to their little voices, I felt guilty for being a non-believer. When I was 5 years old, in 1965, did I understand what my lefty parents were saying about the Kennedy assassination, Watts and dead-soldier counts? Who was I to deprive my son, or his eleven kindergarten chums, of their faith in a nation capable of combining "good with brotherhood?" In a 5-year-old's perfect world, perhaps such places should exist.
That November, at the school's annual Veterans Day program, the children performed the trucker anthem "God Bless the USA" (one of the memorable lines is "Ain't no doubt I love this la-aand, God bless the USA-ay!"), as their parents sang along. About a dozen local veterans -- ancient men who had served in World War II, and men on the cusp of old age who had served in Korea and Vietnam -- settled into folding chairs arranged beneath the flag. When the students were finished singing, the principal asked the veterans to stand and identify themselves. Watching from the audience, I wondered if anyone would speak of the disaster unfolding in Iraq (which was never a word of the week).
No one did. The men rose and stated name, rank and theater. Finally, a burly, gray-bearded Vietnam veteran rose and said what no one else dared. After identifying himself, he choked out, "Kids, I just hope to God none of you ever have to experience what we went through." Then he sat down, leaving a small pocket of shocked silence. No one applauded his effort at honesty. On the contrary, the hot gym air thickened with a tension that implicitly ostracized the man, and by extension -- because we agreed with him -- me and my husband.
A month later, just before Christmas, my son and I drove together into New York City with bags of children's clothes and shoes that he and his sister had outgrown. The Harlem unit of the National Guard was putting on a Christmas clothing drive for Iraqi children. On the way into the city, I tried to explain to my son what we were doing, and -- as best I could -- why. As we crossed the George Washington Bridge and the Manhattan skyline spread out below us, I began to give him a variation on the "Africans don't have any food, finish your dinner" talk. I wanted him to understand how privileged he was to live in a place where bombs weren't raining from the sky. It was a talk I'd tried to have before, but not one he'd ever paid much attention to until that day, trapped in the back seat of our car.
In simple language, I told my son that our president had started a war with a country called Iraq. I said that we were bombing cities and destroying buildings. And I explained that families just like ours now had no money or food because their parents didn't have offices to go to anymore or bosses to pay them. "America did this?" my son asked, incredulous. "Yes, America," I answered. He paused, a long silent pause, then burst out: "But Mommy, I love America! I want to hug America!"
- - - - - - - - - - - -
A month after the Christmas outburst, the first rumors that all was not well with the school began circulating. Fiscal mismanagement, high fuel and retirement costs, and the depleted state economy had created a huge and unexpected cash shortfall for the tiny district. The parents at Narrowsburg School soon had a figure: It was going to cost just over $600,000 to keep their school open for another year. Chump change in Washington and New York City, but impossible to collect in a town where the median family income is barely $45,000. By late June 2005, the little school's fate was sealed. To my surprise I found I was deeply sorry about it.
The patriot-ization of our son was thorough enough to survive the summer. He decorated his birthday cookies with red, white and blue sugar, and in his summer camp program, when doing arts and crafts, those were the colors of paint he favored. "I made the stars red, white and blue -- like the flag!" he exclaimed, holding a paper mobile he'd strung together.
Now it has been almost a year since my son scampered down the steps of Narrowsburg Central Rural School for the last time. We've since returned to the city, driven back to urban life more by adult boredom than our children's lack of educational opportunities. Our son is enrolled in a well-rated K-5 public school on Manhattan's Upper West Side; not surprisingly, the Pledge of Allegiance is no longer part of his morning routine. Come to think of it, and I could be wrong, I've never seen a flag on the premises.
My husband and I realized, though, that Narrowsburg did more than mold our boy into a patriot. He can, it turns out -- despite the warnings of other city parents -- read at a level twice that of his new peers. Since we returned to the city, he has learned how to ride a bike, long for an Xbox, practiced a few new swear words and, somehow, learned the meaning of "sexy." He has pretty much stopped favoring red, white and blue.
How soon childish national pride is shed, I sometimes think now, and not a little wistfully. Only once it was gone did I realize that, after our initial discomfort, my husband and I had begun to see our son's patriotism as a badge of innocence. His faith was a reminder to us that the reason we are devastated by the war in Iraq and the Bush presidency is that we too love America. We too want to believe in its potential for good and brotherhood.
Our family now visits the Narrowsburg house only on weekends and holidays. Sometimes we pass the stately red brick school building, so recently renovated with thermal windows and elevators for the disabled, a town landmark for 75 years. The flag still flies there, but the doors are padlocked and the windows are black.
Kathianne said:Someone explain to me, what great message am I missing here? All I see is a lib that is whimping at not being able to support her child, emotionally.
but impossible to collect in a town where the median family income is barely $45,000.
He has pretty much stopped favoring red, white and blue.
gop_jeff said:I figured it would be a liberal screed when she called "God Bless the USA" "the trucker's anthem," as if truckers were somehow ignorant swine.
Semper Fi said:I stopped reading about 3/4 of the way through the article. That woman is a perfect poster-child of liberalism. Pessimistic and spoon-feeding it to her children. One-sided, and full of complaints. Makes me proud to be a conservative.
Bonnie said:And sad for her son and everyone else who she has managed to relegate to retard status (she calls it innocence)at his desire and their desire to be partiotic. :duh3: Oh well
jillian said:Maybe, Bonnie, real patriots want to see the U.S. be an example rather than a bully?
Bonnie said:Well Jillian many "real" patriots see the US as doing the right thing and not being a bully, and gosh golly darn that includes even intelligent educated people. Your elitism really spills out on every post doesn't it?
archangel said:a liberal perspective...being a VN era vet I see she missed the comment by the gray haired Vietnam veteran...((whats with the ancient comment?) anyhoo he was referring to being spit upon when he returned... not his participation in the war! obviously she had the guilt of her protestor parents so she made it appear as if he were against the war rather than not wishing our future generations the same obnoxious behavoir of her parents!
jillian said:From what would you draw that conclusion. I've only known two Vietnam Veterans personally and both would take the opposite meaning from the vet's comment.
jillian said:Elitism? Because I think that jingoism isn't the same as being patriotic? Interesting.
archangel said:sorry hun I am a Vietnam vet with many Vietnam era friends...I speak from experience...and you? oh right your two Vietnam vet friends also!
jillian said:You mean they don't speak from experience? Funny, one of them accompanied us to the wall in D.C. where my little boy did a scraping of his best friend's name with him. But that doesn't count as experience because his consclusion is different from yours?
The other was one of the kindest, most softspoken men I've ever met who was very active in the veteran's movement and fought very hard to make people see the difference between the soldiers and the war they were sent to fight.
Thank you for your service, btw. But doesn't mean yours is the only pov on the war.
archangel said:and you probably loved the Tom Cruise movie..."Born on the 4th of July" and you are talking about two VN vet aquaintenances out of hundreds of thousands...amazing analogy...with this I close with the song dedication from this vet to you..."American Woman" 'Lenny Kravitz...
side note: I did not hear what your two friends said...only what you say they said or feel...big difference...hearsay does not stand up in a court of law! or the USMB....
