America 250, We're Right on Schedule

The flag never changed. I did.

See, back then, I thought the American flag was majestic.

The Fourth of July helped.

It was a day where getting fresh was mandatory. Dress to impress. Rocking some combination of red, white and blue: shoestrings, wristbands, oversized T-shirts, or even an American flag durag.

Then, a parade. Block parties. All while inhaling that ubiquitous smell of the grill.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, explosions echoed and soaring rockets colored the sky. Residual smoke lured out those wretched mosquitoes. But us kids persevered through the night.

All in the name of America.

I’d gingerly insert the stick of bottle rocket into an empty Budweiser bottle. My skin slick from either sweat or a fourth round of Off spray.

Yet, we persevered.

It was late.

I reached my hand in the red cooler, which is now mostly water with speckled ice cubes, and grabbed a cola.

My mother appeared out of nowhere.

“Tay, you’ve had enough pops. Get out that cooler.”

I mumbled my frustrations–in my head, of course. I’m no fool. Then I scurried back to the fun.

All in the name of America.

Back then, the flag was simple. Looking back, I’m struck by how uncomplicated America felt.

As I got older, the flag didn’t change. I did.

It was the late ‘90s, the early 2000s, and we were told we were living in a post-racial society. Sure, there was slavery.

But that was ancient history.

Jim Crow, segregation, dogs, and fire hoses? That was in Black-and-white, thirty years backward. This was my forward.

This was an America that made mistakes but fixed them. Or so I thought. We were a melting pot.

It didn’t matter if our ancestors arrived as settlers from England or were shipped in from Africa. We were all here now, building this thing together. Right?

At least, that’s how simple it felt to me then.

Then came 9/11.

We watched a terrorist attack break the heart of the country. And like millions of Americans, we rallied around the flag. We leaned into it because it felt like a shield.

The shield didn’t break all at once. It cracked in a dorm lounge at Purdue University.

I was working as a counselor for a camp of gifted students. Late one night, while the campers slept, a group of us sat in the quiet room trying to unwind. Then the radio delivered the verdict.