Mama Says

I don’t say the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag. I’m uncomfortable with the idea of making a promise to an object. I cannot be loyal to a length of printed polyester fabric. Sure, there’s also that part about “the republic for which it stands,” but I prefer to demonstrate my allegiance to the republic by casting an informed ballot. It seems a lot more practical, and a lot more sincere.

That’s really all there is to it. It would be easier to extract myself from recurring debates on this topic if I could claim that the pledge violates my religion. In point of fact, I do hold pledging to the flag to be sort of similar to worshipping the golden calf. But since that is merely a private and not an institutionalized view, I haven’t found it to be a useful talking point when debating the issue with pro-pledge people. Those folks, by definition, are all about the institutionalized view.

Fortunately, I need not engage in lengthy, unpleasant debate on the subject. I live in a democracy where, for the moment, if you don’t want to say the pledge, you don’t have to. If you are an adult, that is. For school children, it’s another thing all together.

My kids are aware that I do not say the pledge, and they know my reasons. I have also tried to emphasize to them that they will need to decide for themselves how they want to handle this issue. But from time to time, I have found myself in their classrooms at announcement time, and have watched them grow agitated as they tried to decide whether they should imitate me or imitate their teacher and classmates.

Possibly their agitation stems from a feeling that they will disappoint me if I discover that they have chosen to say the pledge. If so, it doesn’t explain why they bring the subject up when we aren’t at school. If they only want to please me, why not just let me live in blissful ignorance on the subject of whether or not they are pledging?

One day over milk and cookies after school, my son suddenly announced that during the pledge, he puts his hand on his heart and moves his lips, but doesn’t say the words. That sounds like a child who has spent the day worrying about whether he’s doing something wrong, to me.

And then yesterday, my daughter came to me asking if I would write a note excusing her from saying the pledge. I told her that wouldn’t be necessary because it is illegal for anyone to compel her to say it — children are protected by the Constitution too. But she was convinced that she’d need proof that her refusal was okay with us. So as a compromise, I told her to write her own note, stating that she does not wish to say it, and I would witness her signature.

I suppose I could make this easier on my kids. I could take a page from Ned’s book, and just mouth the parts that I don’t believe, as if this were an incantation for a spell I didn’t really want to cast.

But the easy way is very often not the best way. I am reminded of the time a couple years ago when my son had a social studies unit on Veterans Day. Instead of just sending him to the encyclopedia, we packed up the kids and drove to Washington DC to visit the war memorials. At the Korean War Memorial, we looked for the statue of the medic, and talked about the heroism of my late father, a decorated draftee in that conflict. We looked at the names on the Vietnam War Memorial, and chatted with some of the men there that still haven’t gotten over it. And yes, I mentioned that not one of those men or women “died fighting for our flag.” Not really.

Expressions like that are supposed to be figurative. Literal death resulting from a conflict over a pretty piece of cloth, a mass-produced plastic crucifix, or an insulting newspaper cartoon would be, well, blasphemous. If you commit violence in response to an insult against your treasured symbols, you are saying, “My dignity is very fragile.” I’d like to imagine that American dignity is still a little more sturdy than that. Not only can it withstand my 8-year-old’s decision not to pledge allegiance to the flag, it might actually grow stronger as a result.