My dad used to joke on his way to his favorite watering hole while passing Fort Logan cemetery, "That's where I'm going to be buried, to be near to the place that I love." What a jokester. Now he is buried there, and by no planning of his own. On the side near the road right where he used to point. I cannot even look at the place without getting busted up. I'm a sucker for jingoistic totems like flags and national cemeteries. Memorial day gets me all verklempt. I'm not crying, you're crying. Hey! That's not thunder out there either, those are fireworks!
I must now pray the glory of God. For His hand guiding my country. And I mean it. Pray gratitude for my luck being born here and into a fine solid family. And draw a picture. Here's to my country.
I love the days I can fly my giant flag and hear it flapping out there all day.