I have been a silent witness to all of America's finest hours.
But my finest hour comes
when I am torn into strips to be used for bandages
for my wounded comrades on the field of battle.
when I fly at half mast to honor my soldiers...
and when I lie in the trembling arms
of a grieving mother at the graveside of her fallen son.
I am proud.
My name is Old Glory.
Dear God . . . Long may I wave!
I love how the poem talks about it's proudest moments being the most humble, raw ones. When it comes down to it, I don't think I've every really realized what a gift freedom is...and at what cost it was won. I've grown up reading our history, interested in where we came from, but not feeling the connection between head and heart. I think that is one thing I have learned at ODS. It wasn't what I learned in our many classes or lectures...it was what I saw and heard from those who have given years of service to our country. To see the reaction of the Chiefs and Officers when we sing "God Bless the USA" was something I'll never forget. I left ODS feeling like I can never again take for granted that which was bought with blood and tears...freedom.