I was sitting in my kitchen, with the New York Times on the table - images of rescue workers sifting through 110 stories of rubble. And suddenly I did something completely uncharacteristic of me.
My father died more than 13 years ago. He hated the waste and expense of funerals, so when he was cremated, it was in a simple fiberboard box. In other words, cardboard. He would have loved it :-) And because he was a vereran of WW-II, draped over his coffin was a flag. I was unsettled about that at first, because he had always hated the rah-rah flag wavers, but it was also his right to be buried with a flag. He was proud to be an American, and so am I.
I was given the flag after the funeral, and it sat, neatly folded, in a closet for over 13 years. I still miss my Dad a lot, and seeing the flag still hurt. But I had been seeing flags sprout from a number of neighboring homes, in mute support of New York and Washington.
There's nothing I can do to help in NY or in DC. I can't even donate blood right now, since I am on antibiotics. So I went upstairs, and unfolded my Father's flag. There is now a 10 foot star spangled banner hanging from the front of my house. It's the least I can do...