Reporter's Reflections Archive

Three years ago about this time, Frank and I, like so many others, purchased an American flag to hang in honor of those killed in the 9-11 attacks, and to show our support for our country.

As we live a “far piece” from the main road, the star-spangled banner, draped across the front porch, waved only to us, family, and the occasional visitor.

Also like many others, Frank and I ignored the rules for flying the flag, never taking it down for rain, snow, or darkness. We would fly our flag as long as Americans mourned, as long as soldiers served overseas, as long as it would take for our country’s wounds to heal.

 Of course, our American flag (made in China, by the way) faded and wore thin, and the edges began to fray. Some patriots may think this disgraceful, but as our flag became more tattered, it became, for us, a more appropriate symbol of our country’s suffering--in war, in politics, in our economic outlook. It is our frayed and tattered flag I picture when I sing the Star Spangled Banner, which was written by Francis Scott Key as he was being held prisoner on a British ship, eight miles away from the battle at Fort Henry.

Key watched through 25 hours of heavy bombardment, seeing the flag only when the bombs lit the sky. When the battle silenced at 8:00 the next morning, the smoke was so heavy in the sky that the morning sun could not shine through. When Key saw the flag still waving, he knew the battle was won.

 The flag of the Star Spangled Banner, Key’s flag, had stripes two feet wide. It was 30’ high and 40’ wide. When he witnessed it from afar, the flag that inspired his words had endured the attack of more than 1,800 bombs, cannonballs, and rockets.

 I do not imagine it was fresh and clean.

 Last month, when we prepared the yard for our family reunion, we looked at our flag. Thinking of Kessley Junior (Minney) in the sands of Iraq, gone from his job in local oil fields, we were ashamed of our tattered flag, and bought a new one. Changing the flag was added to my “to do” list.

I took our tattered flag down from the front porch, and hung the crisp, fresh new one. As I watched the new flag lift in the wind, I held the tattered one in my hands. I knew I should take the faded cloth to the fire Frank had burning with brush he had cut, but I could not imagine parting with our September 11 flag.

 I remember the day we bought it (they were sold out at most places) the day the first plane flew over it again after the restricted air zone was lifted for West Virginia skies again, the moments of fear and worry we have had for our country.

 I could not burn it. Instead, I took it to the back side of the house and hung it there.

 This year, there were no memorial services for 9-11, no local tears, or open fears, no public prayer for the grieving or the dead.

Of course, we will never forget.

 The day I changed the flags, Frank came in the house later on, and asked what happened to our September 11 flag. Embarrassed, I told him I hung it out back.

 “Good,” he said. “I was afraid you had burned it.”