My dad was a World War I veteran, and he loved the flag of the United States of America and taught each of us children to love it as well. The flag never got much rest in the closet because he flew it from a standard on our front porch at every opportunity. Memorial Day, Flag Day, the Fourth of July, Armistice Day (Veteran’s Day), Thanksgiving, and Christmas all saw red, white and blue snapping in the breeze because he was up at the crack of dawn to see that it did. This instilled in his family a love for the country it represented.

He bought a special ornament for our car hood where he placed a number of small American flags. Driving around town was a big event in those days, and he loved flying the flags on the front. How proud and important we felt each holiday seated in a car with flags fluttering and flapping in the wind.

My two sisters and I were taught to stand at attention with our hands over our hearts to salute the flag. When a band plays “The Star-Spangled Banner” and Old Glory rises, my heart still quickens, and my hand still finds its place just like papa taught us. I wish some of these modern singers who change the notes to our national anthem wouldn’t do that. I don’t think it honors our veterans and those who’ve died in order to serve our country.

Papa was usually the first person at the voting polls on election day. It was easy to find because his beloved flag flew at the building front. Although he went to work early, voting was always done first. He felt it was his duty as a free, adult American to vote even in the primary elections, but when it was a year to vote for president you’d better look out! You never doubted after a visit in his home where he stood politically. On his chairside table lay a well-worn Bible and a framed picture of the president he loved. He said, “I want them to know whose side I’m on.”

Papa died when he was 90 years old, but in the metal-framed photograph that I have on my bedside table, he is still young and ramrod straight. Even when he was old and ill, he didn’t slump because he never forgot how a soldier should stand at attention when the flag passed by.

Papa was a member of the American Legion, and the commander brought him a veteran’s commemorative plaque before he died. He showed this to everyone in the family, and didn’t let them forget it was to stand guard at his grave as a silent witness of his patriotism when he could no longer fly the flag.

When he died, my stepmother was given the flag that covered his coffin as a service memento to his country. Now, each Memorial Day, it flies with hundreds of others on the Avenue of Flags which curves around the Fairview cemetery in Coffeyville, where he’s buried.

My patriotic papa would be proud if he could see its bold colors of red, white and blue silhouetted against the intense blue sky, whipping and dancing in the Kansas wind. I’m sure he would stand straight and tall and give a sharp salute.

Papa never had any sons to serve in the military, but he left a legacy of grandchildren and great-grandchildren who would serve in Vietnam, Desert Storm, and other military actions. Their willingness to serve in the United States military didn’t come by accident. A grandfather and great-grandfather paved the way for their decisions of duty, honor, and country. Every family who has men who’ve served can be proud of them and their dedication to the flag of the United States of America.

Because our veterans are dying at a fast rate, we must not allow them to be dishonored by not flying the flag. If your family doesn’t have a flag, go out and buy one and display it every chance you get. Pass on to your children and grandchildren the tradition of flying the flag as proud citizens of the greatest nation on earth and in remembrance of their forefathers who were the “greatest generation.”