My Hometown

My Hometown

The Tattered Flag

All my life, my little hometown has had a tattered American flag that hangs over the square.

The sun has faded some of the blue and red on it.

Some of its edges are frayed pretty good and you’re likely to have strands of red, white, or blue land on your shoulder as you walk under it.

But when a big gust takes a hold of it on a windy day, that flag still stands boldly and waves proudly in the air.

Cracking in the wind as the rope holding it in place clacks against its pole.

Though many towns and municipalities would have replaced the worn out and tired flag by now with one that was crisp, shiny, and new, the one in our town is rumored to have come back with a solider from overseas during WWII.

Anyone in my town knows the story of the flag.

It has been engrained in us since we were young and we tell it to our own kids today.

Many outsiders question the stories validity and consider it to be small town folklore.

But on this Memorial Day, I wonder if it really even matters if that story is true or not?

I watched that tattered American Flag fly over our square for years, but one thing my grandpa taught me when I was just a little tyke has always stuck with my heart.

He explained as we sat on a bench near the flag eating an ice cream cone, “It’s not about what that flag looks like on the outside because it sure is tattered and old, but it’s about all that it represents and stands for.”

He paused to lick his ice cream cone and we sat, in what I now realize was a moment of silence for all of the veterans that gave their life to protect ours.

Then he continued, “Don’t ever forget the price that so many have paid with their bravery, so that we can eat these ice cream cones together today!”

 

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