Why I Love America, And Why Patriotic T-Shirts Just Don't Cut it For Me

The moment is ingrained in my mind like an 8 millimeter film reel - blurry, dark, yet still cohesive.  I've just arrived at Sunset Heights Elementary School and I'm standing with a mass of antsy fourth graders in the computer lab, attempting to listen to the the deep voice of my principal, Mr. Bettencourt, as he addresses the school through speakers in every classroom.  My teacher has her finger pursed to her lips as she concentrates intently on the announcement, motioning for us all to sit down with her other hand.  I am trying to understand what Mr. B is saying, but all I can make out is the tension in his voice.  "Everyone, please remain calm.  I promise you are all safe. Teachers, if you would like any more information please come to the office. Thank you." 

Although I wasn't aware at the time, this was the first of many scary, bewildering reports I would hear that day regarding the aerial attacks on the World Trade Center and later in Washington D.C. and Pennsylvania.  As soon as the announcement was over, my peers and I erupted in questions. "What's happening?" "Are we in danger?" "What's a terrorist?" 

My teacher, frazzled but calm, asked us to sit down and try to stay quiet as she turned on the television in the corner of the small classroom.   The scene on the news was startling - two looming buildings, each at least a hundred stories tall, spewing fire and smoke from gaping holes on the sides of both structures.  The camera flashed to the street view, where dismayed pedestrians ran through thick ash, away from the burning monstrosities.  My teacher shut off the television and looked at the twenty-something young people sitting silently in front of her.  "I don't know if I can answer your questions kids," she sighed.  "But I can try."

Around 10:30, my mother dismissed me from school for an orthodontist appointment.  For days I had begged her not to go, fearing the excruciating pain of having my braces tightened, but instead I rushed into her arms in the main office, ignoring my previous fears -- I had more serious concerns on my mind now.  "Everything's going to be okay," she said, stroking my hair.  As we walked outside the school hand in hand, I peered up into the blue sky, searching in the distance for the billowing clouds of black smoke I had seen on television.  

By the first anniversary of the September 11th attacks, I had comprehended the horrific events to the best of my ten year-old ability and experienced the patriotic aftermath of the worst terrorist attacks in U.S. history.  I had witnessed the American flags in every doorway, worn the red, white and blue t-shirts, and heard Lee Greenwood's nationalistic anthem, "God Bless the USA" on every radio station as it went viral across the country.  A few days after school started, my teacher told me she had chosen me to represent Sunset Heights at a 9/11 Memorial Service at Greeley Park, where students from the different public schools in Nashua would help commemorate the victims of the attacks.  I eagerly accepted the offer.

The night of the service, I proudly crossed the stage with the other students, each of us dropping a red carnation on a small memorial.  As I headed back to my seat with the others, I noticed my father standing up from his place in the audience and heading towards a tall, bearded man standing next to the podium, holding a large poster in front of him.  "That's my dad," I whispered to the girl sitting next to me, pointing to my father who now stood directly in front of the man's large sign.  "I don't know what he's doing." 

My father stood in front of the poster for the rest of the night and when the memorial was over, many people approached him to shake his hand or pat his shoulder.  "Thanks for doing that," one man said.  "We don't need shmucks like that ruining the night for the rest of us."  

"What happened?" I asked, tugging on my dad's shirt sleeve. "Why are people thanking you?"

"Well sweetie, that man had a sign that was blaming Jewish people for September 11th," my dad said. "And even though he has the right to stand there, I also have the right to block his sign from view." 

My father was whisked away by a Telegraph reporter who put a small article in the paper about the incident the next day.  Alongside the article was a picture of my father, his arms jutting out to block the nasty message the man behind him was attempting to spread.

It's now been nine years since that interesting night at Greeley Park and an entire decade since that sunny, unassuming September morning that changed the world forever.  In those ten years I have experienced our nation's transformation into a post-9/11 society - the added airport security measures, the "God Bless America" mentality, the unfair but widely accepted equalization of "Middle Eastern" with "terrorist."  I have been to the sobering Ground Zero Memorial in New York, and watched disturbing 9/11 documentaries in history class.  I have seen America stay cautious, but strong.

I woke up this morning to patriotic statuses overwhelming my Facebook newsfeed and documentary after documentary about September 11th on television.  Although I find it important to reflect on something as significant as the tenth anniversary of a day that shook our nation to its core, I believe that there is more to American patriotism than wearing a "Never Forget" t-shirt or posting a quote from George W. Bush as your status.  To me, real patriotism is exemplified in acts like my father's back in 2002 - taking a peaceful stand against something that he, and America as a whole, did not think was right.  It was a simple action and something that anyone in that audience could have done, but it was a perfect illustration of what the United States is all about - standing up for what you believe in and doing what is right, even when it is not easy. 

I love America not only for our triumphant spirit and ability to overcome obstacles, but because I have the right to say whatever I want with no fear, and anyone who disagrees can speak their opinion as well.  People can say negative things, hold up offensive signs during memorials, or even attack us from out of the blue, but we as Americans will never back down.  And what American would argue with that? But if they wanted to they'd have every damn right to do so.