Please bump this thread, ping your lists and send this URL to Vets groups, troops, military families,friends and the MEDIA.
Collect your graphics,songs and well wishes now and see you May 1st.. right here at FR.
Posted on 04/15/2004 5:32:55 AM PDT by Diva Betsy Ross
Please bump this thread, ping your lists and send this URL to Vets groups, troops, military families,friends and the MEDIA.
Collect your graphics,songs and well wishes now and see you May 1st.. right here at FR.
I am a proud American!I was born an American. Unlike my grandparents, I was born in the greatest nation in the history of the world. However, being born here didn't make me a real American, that took time.
I became an American, slowly and decisively over my entire life. I was taught to respect my country and learned what it took to be an American through my own experiences, knowledge, and witness. I remember those precious moments in my life that brought me to the realization, that being born here, in America, is one of the the greatest blessing I had been given.
As a young boy, I had the pleasure of living with 4 generations of my proud family. I had the unique experience of having both of our paternal great grand parents, and a great great grandmother from my mothers side of the family living with us. None of my elders were born in this wonderful country, but they were ardent patriots to the core. Having survived the bitter memories of the ravages in their native lands gave them a platform from which to appreciate this Nation of Freedom, and they never missed an opportunity to pass those perspectives on to everyone, especially me..
While still a boy, I had the honor of watching a ceremony as my 92 year old great Grandfather, an immigrant from the bowels of depravity in Italy, as he stood in a crowded church basement and took an oath, and recited the Pledge of Allegiance to his beloved country to finally become a citizen of the United States Of America. For him, becoming a real member of this wonderful country was the culmination of a lifetime of work, and struggle and hope, and prayers.
My great Grandfather, body bent from years of hard work stood tall as he listened closely to the speeches from the visiting dignitaries, and to my uncle, who translated a few of the words and whispered into his ear everything that was said from the podium. In those days, immigrants had to study and be tested to prove they knew enough about this country, and it's founding, history and government, to be qualified to contribute to it's greatness. The reward was to him the greatest gift anyone could aspire, an American citizenship.
He had paid his dues over the years as an honorable and productive member of this society and done his homework for this day, and he didn't want to miss a single word.
It was on that day, in the cold damp basement decorated with flags and flanked with elders and children and with his fine and honorable family looking on, that he and a large group gathered to prove that they were worthy. That day this proud man who had overcome language, illiteracy and poverty, was at last to be rewarded, he was finally a real American.
At the conclusion of the ceremony, he broke down and cried for the first and only time I ever remember in his long and distinguished life. At that moment I remember thinking, it must be very special to be an American.
There was a time, when my 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Miller, the first and only black person, man or woman with courage enough to enter the forbidden confines of my Little Italy neighborhood called me into the hallway to tell me that I must hurry home, because my beloved grandfather had just been rushed to the hospital.
My eyes must have shown my utter horror of that moment. She grabbed me and held me tightly, and did what was the single most important thing that I needed in the whole world. She comforted me in my time of need. I remember thinking how much I loved this brave woman who found her way into my life in this great and wonderful land. She had taught us our American history, and she did it, drawing upon her unique perspective.
I remember looking back as I hurried away, and seeing the tears running down her cheeks. I was grateful that this was a country were we had fought for the rights of everyone, especially Mrs. Miller who was there now when I needed her.. I stayed in close touch with her until her death, many years later.. she always made me proud to be in America..
When I was very young, I remember a parade where the leaders of the procession were the last few remaining soldiers, survivors of the civil war. These were a few old men and 1 woman, proudly dressed in their faded uniforms. They were from both sides of the conflict. We waved our flags, and whistled as they passed. They waved and smiled as they were pushed in wheel chairs as others walked slowly past a wildly cheering crowd.
At one point, I broke away from my aunt and uncle (he a vet from WWI, and she a volunteer at the VFW) and ran out the the soldiers and I handed my small flag to one of those wonderful old patriots, she in return touched my face and smiled. When I returned to the sideline I was cheered by the crowd, and kissed by a total stranger. You can bet I was so very proud to be an American.
I remember when my entire family attended a parade held in honor of General Douglas Mac Arthur. We children knew who he was, everyone knew the names of all of our conquering war heroes. We had waited for hours to get a glimpse of this living legend in a real ticker tape spectacular, honoring the great General's retirement. As he passed, and the crowds roared with excitement, he turned and looked directly at ME, as I stood there in my uncles' old army cap, and he saluted me. I froze! For that moment I was breathless, I returned his salute, the folks around me burst into applause, and oh my, I was so proud to be an American.
I remember being chosen to recite the Preamble to our Constitution at my school assembly celebrating Memorial Day. We had spent the entire year learning the history of this glorious land in our 5th grade class. All the bravery and struggling it took to scratch this wonderful country into existence. I was taught that the words in our Constitution where not mere phrases on a piece of paper, they were the foundation of our democracy, the cornerstone of what separated us from all of the others. I learned that it was because of the bravery of a few, that we were FREE and PROUD, and I was so lucky to be an American.
As I stood on that stage before my teachers and classmates, I could hardly remember my name let alone my speech. At one point during my oration, I drew a complete blank, and as my young life passed before my eyes, the principle, a stern steely man, a former veteran, leaned over and whispered the forgotten word, and winked at me as he smiled. I finished to an applause, and bowed and looked at our flag and gave thanks the ordeal was over, and that I was so proud to be a good American boy.
There was for me, a not so proud moment when my country's greatness came into my clear focus.
I and my friends had broken a window while playing stick ball in the middle of the street. Instead of fessing up to the crime, we ran like the dickens to hide before we were caught. That evening, during dinner, a hugh Irish Chicago Police officer came to our door. He asked if I would step out side. My mom told me to hurry and followed me to the stoop where a few of my friends and a small crowd of neighbors were already waiting.
We were asked if we had done the deed. I looked at my mom in shame, then at my friends who were looking at their shoes, and I answered yes. He took us to the police station, and made us listen to a lecture about the poor old folks that had to scrap their nickels and dimes together to repair the damage we had done. I was crushed to think that we had inflicted so much agony on these poor people. Then we were asked if we were willing to work off the cost of the repairs, instead of the electric chair, which we were sure was the other option. I shouted my answer.. YES!
My friends and I were given the privilege to scrub the headstones and statues of our fallen patriots at our Memorial cemetery. For this act, the local Veterans Of Foreign Wars would replace the window. We did it happily and proudly. However, my folks and the parents of the other kids, made us do it every year from that point forward until we graduated from high school. Each year I read the names, and every year, there were new names added because of the passing of the old-timers, and the incredible losses in the Korean conflict.
Only now, some of those new names were men and boys not much older than we were. What made it even more meaningful, is that some of them were the family members of my own friends and neighbors. I recall crying silently over the fresh grave of my best friend's brother, a boy who it seemed only yesterday, had taught us to play baseball. And yes dear God, I was sad, but proud to be an American.
On my 18th birthday, I stood tall at the induction center of the U.S. Air Force, and while reciting my oath, and allegiance to my country, I remembered all those things. That day I left home for the last time. I was finally a real man, and for the first time given the opportunity to say to my country, thank you from my grandpa, thank you for my family, thank you for my neighborhood, and thank you to all of those men before me that had given their all, for us to be FREE. I was proud to serve my country, and to this day I thank GOD I have a country like America to give what I could, including my life if necessary. Yes, I am a proud American.
GOD HAS BLESSED AMERICA
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.