I have often wondered why I am so interested in history and government. Why does a young girl develop a love of all things military? I have often thought of this and I have a few thoughts as to why I love my nation, military and especially those who fought for both, those who are veterans.
Growing up within a three mile radius of Hill Air Force Base is probably a good start. As a child I would love it when I was allowed to go out with dad and watch the jets take off and land. There was this little area that was a frequent spot for those who liked to watch the planes. On occasion dad and I would go and just sit, for what felt like hours, and talk. We would then both get excited about the sounds that could be heard from miles around. In our excitement we would jump out of the station wagon and look to the sky. There is nothing more amazing than to see the descent of an F-16’s landing gear. But then to see and hear the landing gear touch the landing strip was phenomenal. Sometimes if the wind was blowing just so, you could smell the rubber hitting the pavement. It was awesome. My dad would sometimes get information about special planes coming to visit HAFB and we would go and specifically watch for their arrival. I remember waiting to see Air Force One (though it wasn’t technically Air Force One, President Clinton was in Jackson Hole, and without a President on board it loses it call sign), F-117, B-2 Stealth Bomber. Watching the Stealth Bomber come in was freaking the coolest thing I have ever seen. I could hear it coming, but couldn’t see it until it was landing! It looked like a speck of dust, black kite, or super fast bird.
Or maybe it was the frequent trips to the Hill Aerospace Museum. My Grandpa Arnold was constantly volunteering his time and efforts to the museum. It was beautiful. He would tell of us of a new airplane coming in and we would go and watch its arrival. A plane is such a majestic piece of machinery, and then to think that all the planes at the museum have a special history is baffling to me. Once I got my license I would often go alone, or with a sibling, and just walk around the grounds of the museum. Many people don’t understand why I would do that. Many have questioned how often do the planes and the stories change? That’s not the reason why I would go. I would imagine what special thing each one was used for. What finally prompted them to be placed in a museum? Did you know that one of Lady Bird Johnson’s personal airplanes are on the grounds up there? One Saturday I was able to sit inside the plane and tell observers of the planes history. To sit in the plane and smell the smells, imagine what meetings and decisions were made in there were mind boggling!
But all in all I think that the main reason why I have such a strong love for my nation and all of its symbols of freedom came by accident.
I don’t know how old I was but I would assume five or so because the story takes place in Jerome, Idaho. Poppie and Grandma Armga lived in the most amazing house, it had so many doors!
I was outside playing in the enormous backyard with my siblings and cousins. I ran around the side of the house closest to the fields, to find my father and grandfather. They were talking about something that was going over my head. But I stopped to watch them interact with each other. Then they walked to the garage and grabbed a trash can lid and walked to the driveway. I followed, curious as to what they would be doing with a trash can lid. It was then that my father laid the lid on the ground and Poppie laid a battered and torn American Flag on the lid. I watched as he lit a match. I watched as both my father and grandfather stood in silence as they watched it burn. Confused, so confused. I was always told by my other grandfather that the American flag should NEVER touch the dirty ground, it should be hung up honorably and correctly. I looked at my father for some help. Why would Poppy burn such a thing that Grandpa Arnold thought so highly of? I then looked at Poppy, who had a tear in his eye. He looked as though he was in a trance. My staring must have interrupted his train of thought because he looked at me. He asked what was wrong. I told him he was not being very nice to that flag. They should never be anywhere near the ground. He chuckled a bit and said that I was correct. He also went on to say that when a flag is old and tattered and torn, instead of just throwing it in the trash one should respect the flag and burn it, ceremoniously. My father agreed with him. I wanted to know so much more, ask so many other questions. But my father said to respect the flag, stand quietly and think about what it stands for. Poppie then told me that the flag meant so much to him that he believed that we should honor it and all of its symbolism with absolute reverence.
Later on in my life, as I have studied history, I have gained a huge amount of respect for the American flag and all of its meanings. I know that even I do not do enough to honor the flag, America and veterans. But I try. I feel my heart swell whenever I see a flag at the opening of a ball game, or a parade, or in a textbook.
I have had the opportunity to go to Washington D.C. on two separate occasions. The first time I was able to see the original Star Spangled Banner being restored, the original Star Spangled Banner. I remember standing on the landing crying at the majesty of such a symbol. I remember crying harder when a Veteran of WWII approached me and said thank you. He said that he was annoyed by those walking around ignoring such an exhibit. He said that my reverence showed that I had been taught well about the beauty of such a symbol.
The second time I went to D.C. I was able to see what is called the Pentagon Flag. This flag is the one that was hung on the Pentagon immediately following the attacks on September 11, 2001. I had to sit down so as to help contain my emotions.
The flag may have been fabric sewn together by Betsy Ross. But it means so much.
Thank you to all those who have served and are serving our nation. Thank you to those who have defended me and have used the flag as a symbol of hope and love and sacrifice. Because of this love I have for the American flag, don’t be alarmed if I have odd views on how a flag should be treated. I am a fruity fruit cake when I feel that those around me do not honor and pay respects appropriately.
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