UNDIMMED BY HUMAN TEARS

I’m not much of a flag waver, really. I always thought that author James Baldwin captured my feelings precisely in Notes of a Native Son when he wrote:

I love America more than any other country in the world, and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.

I still believe, heart and soul, in the shining ideals of democracy, however —equality under the law, the American common school, a free, high-quality education for all children, simply because they deserve it. Thirty years of teaching school, observing practice and policy, have given me a crust of cynicism about many things related to school and country. But I never lost my enthusiasm for the Memorial Day parade.

For 25 years, my middle school band students marched through the small town where I teach and live, in the Memorial Day Parade. There was a whole set of traditions around this event, which grew larger and more complicated every year: the aural passing down of our special drum cadences from the self-appointed 8th  grade drum line leaders to younger would-be hotshot percussionists, mending the color guard flags originally purchased through a pizza sale back in ’88, and patching up hand-me-down equipment begged from local high schools when they replaced drums and sousaphones. There was never a budget for this—middle schools don’t typically sponsor marching bands—but somehow there were always T-shirts, drinks at the end of the parade route, and an absolutely stunning handmade banner that two moms whipped up with lots of lamé and sequins. In the year before I left the middle school, we marched 300 students, on a morning when the sky was a sapphire blue, and Air Force jets flew overhead as we rounded the corner by the cemetery.

This took up a fair amount of teaching time. I would get on my knees and ask my colleagues for 20 minutes on the Friday before the parade to assemble five bands into a single marching unit and take a few spins around the parking lot. One year, as I was trying to get the back of the band to master pinwheel corners, the front rank (some particularly rambunctious 8th  grade trombones) marched right up the sidewalk, opened the front doors, and led the band, playing America the Beautiful at top volume, through the school hallways. By the time I sprinted up to the head of the band (and the principal popped, red-faced, out of his office), marching through the school was a done deal—and became yet another annual tradition.

I was always clear with my students about the meaning and purpose of Memorial Day. My students would occasionally whine about how “boring” America the Beautiful was—Mr. Holland’s band played Louie, Louie, so why couldn’t we? I would explain that even though they were in middle school, they were old enough to dedicate a morning to thanking generations of patriots, acknowledging their sacrifices, and that older people, watching them march by, would be pleased and proud.

We do this, I told them, to remember and honor those who made it possible for you to live in this beautiful little town, in this safe world. People like my uncle, Donald Tjapkes, who was killed at 19 in the first wave of Marines capturing Iwo Jima, in 1945. Or Ray Shineldecker and Joey Hoeker, who went to high school with me, and lost their lives in Viet Nam. There were lots of funny stories to tell about Joey, who lived around the corner in my old neighborhood—a big, goofy kid who was what guidance counselors in the 1960s called “not college material.” Once, after a performance with my 8th  grade bands on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, I was loading tympani into the storage bins beneath the buses as my students toured the Mall. A few girls came running up, calling “Mrs. Flanagan! We found him!” Found who, I asked.

Joey Hoeker, of course—on the Wall. And I lost it, right in front of all those kids. 

I went uptown today to the library, and grabbed a program for this weekend’s events. Inside was a picture of U.S. Army Chief Warrant Officer Monica Narhi, now a helicopter pilot and part of a medevac rescue crew, most recently deployed in Afghanistan. Monica also, years ago, played the trumpet in my middle school band.

Thanks, Monica. This verse of America the Beautiful is for you.

O Beautiful, for heroes proved

         In liberating strife

Who more than self their country loved,

         And mercy more than life.

America! America!

         God mend thine every flaw

Confirm thy soul in self-control,

        And liberty in law.

Comments

[Mamacita]

My kids were in marching band, and I remember well those beautiful Memorial Day ceremonies.

But your post, it's, well, it's simply lovely. Thanks for sharing.

[melissa b.]

One of my fondest memories is of marching as a Girl Scout behind the middle school band in the Memorial Day Parade every year. I spent 8 years in a little town like you describe, before I moved to the "big city" for high school. The Wall in DC, with all those names, has the same effect on me. It's no coincidence, I think, that this Memorial to people like Joey is just steps from Mr. Lincoln.

[Jim]

Great post. I found this neat video on teacher tube the other day and shared it with my 5th graders.

I am not sure the link will work but all you need to do is cut and paste the link below into the url box.

:)

http://visitmyclass.com/blogs/theskinny/archive/2008/05/21/149672.aspx

[Nancy Flanagan]

Mamacita, Melissa and Jim,

Thanks for visiting. Really liked the video you shared, Jim--thanks. The thing about the annual Memorial Day "fireside chat" I had with kids was that they always paid attention. There was a kind of instinctive understanding that there is a cost to freedom. Middle school kids don't get many chances to talk about big ideas with multiple perspectives--they get a steady diet of facts.

I really appreciate your reading and posting. It's a gorgeous weekend here in Michigan, sunny and clear.
Happy Memorial Day.

[Lisa Feutz]

You will not be surprised to know that I've never posted a comment before. But - to you this Memorial Day......thanks. For all the special, time-consuming things you taught so many young people (including me, your MUCH younger sister). Lisa