The Peach Tree Flag

One of our Safety Officers sent me a flag that needed replacing. It had a small tear on the bottom corner. A seam had come loose.

The officer there was a Marine. He didn't wait for it to tatter to pieces. I brought it home, it wasn't finished.

It was Memorial Day weekend. I always fly the flag. I remember once telling my son I had to get my flag up. It was June 14th and I said, 'It's Flag Day." The steely artillery officer said, "Dad, every day is Flag Day."

I felt like Betsy Ross stitching the seams back together. I wondered what she must have been thinking. Did she miss a stitch too as tears swelled with pride for that first flag? Why, it looks good as new. And, big!

It was as wide as the pole my old flag flew from. And, unfurled, it was too long to fly from my front porch. The poles in the attic were too flimsy to support it. What possible perch could I find to display it with pride?

The old peach tree only had two green branches left. It bravely gave up about a dozen delicious peaches this year. "Better cut it down soon," my arborist wife lamented. I sighed, but agreed it should be done.

It wasn't like Iwo Jima, nothing like that. But as I stood under that barren tree and stared at its splendor, I envisioned how glorious it would be, if just for this weekend. For that grand old flag to wave, in all its glory, from its strongest branch!

I don't know about you, but I still get tears in my eyes when I see it wave. I love America, and thank God that I, an immigrant's grand son, was born here. God bless America, and God bless that grand old flag. Long may it stand for Freedom, and long may it wave.

George Markos, Retired Consultant for Fishmore & Dolittle

(My son Chuck retired as a Lieutenant Colonel, U. S. Army)

The Hand Bell Choir

When I went to college in Jacksonville in 1965 I worked part time at Western Auto. My “room” cost $6 a week with a shared bathroom and no kitchen. I had a hot plate for a can of Ravioli and French bread with grape jam in a suitcase. 

Sunday morning I went to my Methodist church service. Sunday night I went to the Baptist Youth meeting directly across the street because they had hot dogs and potato chips. But on Wednesday night I attended the Presbyterian Church because they had a covered dish supper. I ate a lot, so to avoid being that obvious I joined the Hand Bell Choir. 

The only musical training I had was singing in the choir at Grace Methodist and in Ollie Whittles’ Glee Club in the 11th grade. The pastor invited me over to his house after one service and left me sitting in the living room with his lovely daughter as he and his wife went to bed. I had a girl friend in Sanford and asked her to marry me that Christmas Eve. So, I had to stop going for the covered dish supper. 

I dropped 10 lbs. from what I weighed at graduation. I often wondered how good a ding-a-linger I really could have been.