I don’t consider myself very patriotic, but, today, I felt moreso, than ever!
A kid from our town was killed in Afghanistan. A kid!! He was only 19. I think he’d been out of high school for a year, and was serving his first tour overseas, as a medic.
Jake and I were having lunch on the main street of our little town, and flags lined the streets, and crowds were gathered along them.
We asked a woman what was going on, and she told us, about this fallen soldier. His body was being flown back from the Middle East, and was being driven from the airport in our town, to the funeral home in the neighboring town. There was a large processional, and the locals came out in droves, to line the streets, wave these flags, and salute this soldier, who died for our country.
This kid, who died for our country.
The processional was about two miles long. Fire trucks and police officers from every town nearby led the way, and motorbike gangs, from the “Killed in Action” groups, and Patriot Guard Riders, were there to escort their comrade.
It was incredible.
I can’t think of another time, that I’ve ever felt anywhere close to that amount of pride in my country.
Or, in my small town.
And, especially, in a boy, whose body was now in a coffin, covered by our flag.
It was solemnly beautiful.