By Gail Harrison

"Hats off, the flag is passing by." That's the first line of a poem I memorized in second grade. It's one of my earliest recollection of feeling patriotic.

I thought of that poem when I visited historic monuments in Washington DC years ago and during a patriotic ceremony that included posting the colors, I was appalled at the number of people who remained seated. (Many citizens exercise that freedom today.)

Back in1970 at the time I visited Wash. DC, some people felt the need to make a statement against the government during the Viet Nam War and during the upheaval of the civil rights movement. Perhaps some of those at the ceremonies were just apathetic. Nevertheless, as an Air Force family, we stood proud for the flag and sang the anthem with hands over our hearts.

During those Air Force years, our family lived in four foreign countries for a total of ten years. We lived in undeveloped countries with backward customs and extreme poverty. Numerous shocking images are seared into my memory.

I still see an old woman in black sitting on a bridge in Adana, Turkey--a tin cup next to her for the occasional coin from strangers. She appears to have no legs and flies hover on her many open sores. Her plight traumatizes me. I wonder who places her there each hot day. I see no water or food.

I see flimsy huts constructed of cardboard and flattened tin cans that family members live in near a Turkish prison in order to feed their prisoner. I wonder how people living in such dire conditions could produce a meal for themselves much less a prisoner.

Along a mountain road I see a woman, stooped under the huge bundles of sticks she carries, as she trudges behind a man riding a donkey. The small donkey bears the weight of the man as well as a load of sticks. Only the man is privileged to ride and not carry part of the burden.

I see people in Manila living inside a stone wall in the city. Where the wall is broken, the hollow space providesshelter for people who have no place to live. No bathrooms. No running water. Human beings living in filth and scavenging for food.

Those images are but a small part of my stored memories. Suffice it to say-I learned during those ten years to appreciate America. At the end of a particularly trying assignment, I looked forward with all my heart to returning to the good old USA.

When the plane began its descent into New York City, I couldn't hold back tears when I spotted the Statue of Liberty down below. Getting off the plane, I had a very real urge to kiss the ground. I probably would have if we hadn't been on the dirty old tarmac.

So, yes, I fly the American flag. When my grandchildren visit on Fourth of July we march around the flag singing patriotic songs and we recite the Pledge. I love America. I say to those who complain and criticize and refuse to pledge their allegiance, go live across the world where you don't have freedom of speech, where you see people with no rights whatsoever, where you show your papers at every check point and border-sometimes with machine guns trained on your back. Live there for a few years. Then come home and appreciate the blessings of being an American.