Golarz: My love for America was born from immigrants and service
My love affair began when I was 5. The war was being waged in Europe and the Pacific. I was living with my immigrant grandmother as both of my parents worked in war production plants.
At 3:35 p.m. each afternoon, I would run to the pharmacy and get her daily Polish newspaper. I would then sit with her at the kitchen table as she read and translated for me in her broken English. She would talk of how in her former native land there were now prohibitions of newspapers. Through her tears she would tell me of her love for this America.
Often in afternoons, we would walk together to the bakery. Many immigrant and Black neighbors would be sitting on their porches, so conversations were frequent. Many had children serving. Blue and gold stars adorned their front windows. After I learned the meanings of the gold stars, I would be fearful of looking toward a window that yesterday had a blue star for fear that today it would be gold, representing a young life cut short.
When the war ended, I can still feel the jubilation and remember those returning in uniform and lifting me to their shoulders. Church bells rang continuously.
Not everyone came back, and for those who did, some were in wheelchairs, some had lost limbs, and some lost more. Andrew, a returning vet and neighbor, one night in full uniform, simply stood on the railroad track. No one in the neighborhood ever got over that.
In later years, I remember my dad’s buddy “Pea Shoot.” He was a vet who just couldn’t stay off the bottle. Dad often covered for him at work and kept his war medals in his dresser. Pea Shoot had dad keep them for fear that on a bad night he would pawn them. One afternoon Pea Shoot’s wife called. Pea Shoot had been found by the police, beaten and killed in a Harbor Bar alley. I had never seen dad weep so. At Pea Shoot’s funeral, dad pinned on his chest his Silver Star and two Purple Hearts; he then saluted and quietly said, “You're home sailor, you’re safe now.”
Many who I trained with at Annapolis ended up in Vietnam. Some were captured and imprisoned, some killed. We shared as hero the likes of John McCain. Why would we not?
I love this democracy. I love its immigrants. I love its freedoms. I love its free press. I love its heroes. I love its continual effort to be better and more inclusive.
And to all who come after my generation I say: Look past her wounds and scars and remember that they were received in battles, including a civil war, in her attempts to become her best for you.
Now from the poem "The Lay of the Last Minstrel" by Sir Walter Scott, I leave to you these provocative lines as a loving caution, lest your love falters.
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,Who never to himself hath said,This is my own, my native land!Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’dAs home his footsteps he hath turn’dFrom wandering on a foreign strand!If such there breathe, go, mark him well;For him no Minstrel raptures swell;High though his titles, proud his name,Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;Despite those titles, power, and pelf,The wretch, concentred all in self,Living shall forfeit fair renown,And, doubly dying, shall go downTo the vile dust, from whence he sprung,Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung
— Sir Walter Scott
So young citizens ignore the naysayers, and embrace her with all of her imperfections. Love and protect her, for she comes to you paid for with the shortened lives and blood of past Americans.
Raymond Golarz has authored or co-authored 12 books. He has keynoted criminal justice or education conferences throughout the United States and Canada. His website is RayGolarz.com. He resides in Bloomington.
This article originally appeared on The Herald-Times: Columnist hopes younger generations will love the US as he has
