My dad passed away in May 2020. As I stumble through this life, his lessons reveal themselves unexpectedly.
Amid what promises to be another contentious and vicious presidential election, I am reminded of my father’s love for his country. As a young man, he graduated from Frederick High School with nothing more than the promise of the draft before him. Desiring some choice over his manifested destiny, he joined the United States Navy. If he had to go to war, he wanted to see some of the world along the way.
While fighting a war abroad, his country found itself at an inflection point. Decades of racial, economic, gender, and class-based unrest were morphing into societal upheaval. Add assassinations and an unpopular war to the mix, and the country must have felt like a powder keg ready to explode at any moment.
Returning to American shores, my father was spit on and called a baby killer. As I grew older, my father would tell me stories about the impossible choices he was forced to make in Vietnam. Stories about killing citizens with bombs hidden underneath their clothes, and a harrowing tale of how he survived captivity, both dazzled and frightened me. Those choices haunted him. The lack of understanding and acceptance by his fellow citizens only compounded the nightmares.
My dad never definitively stated his opinion about Vietnam and the war we waged there. As a younger man, he was more progressive, experienced enough bloodshed, and saw enough friends die. I assumed he leaned toward feelings of the war being a waste of our nation’s treasure. As he grew older, my dad grew more conservative. I watched him rethink and process those original stances.
Despite the dissonance, my father demanded we stand and salute the flag during the National Anthem. Talking or goofing around during this display of patriotism would make him furious. Reflecting on those moments, I assume my father reconciled his past and decided that despite the faults of his nation, he would love it with all his might. He was determined to instill patriotism into his boys.
Now, my father is gone, and I struggle to love my country. I have written these words before, but I think they are worth repeating here. Beyond some words etched into our constitution, there is no evidence that we are the best country in the world.
We lead the world in the following categories: highest incarceration rate, the world’s largest prison population, highest percentage of obese people in the world, highest divorce rate, highest rate of illegal drug use, highest rate of car thefts, highest rate of reported rapes, highest rate of reported murders, the world’s largest police force, most money spent on healthcare as it relates to our gross domestic product, more student loan debt, largest national debt, the world’s most complicated tax system, and a government that spends seven times more on our military than any other country in the world.
I look at the data and I don’t see a great country. I look at our divisions, our leaders, and see no solutions, saviors, or grand reckonings on the horizon. I look in the mirror and wonder, how much more of this can I take. Then, before succumbing to dread, I am reminded of the lessons of my father. I think of my version of patriotism.
My patriotism manifests itself in the work I do. Every day, my patriotism reveals itself in a pursuit to undo decades of housing injustice. My patriotism can be found in my volunteer work. It makes itself known in my attempts to build community. It can be witnessed with every petition, protest, or exercise of my basic liberties. My patriotism is about rising above cynicism and selfishness.
Nothing I am doing will ward off the fall of this empire, but it will be known for eternity that I did my best to stave off the inevitable. That’s how I honor my father’s legacy, and that’s how I honor my version of patriotism.
Be good to each other,
Nathan
Lessons of Our Father (2024)
in Essays
