I'm Proud to be an American

"You're a high flying flag
And forever in peace may you wave"

George M. Cohan

I asked my Dad yesterday if he had a favorite 4th of July song. Without missing a beat he said,"Call Ol' Rattler from the Barn." If you are scratching your head and wondering about that you are not alone. That is the same reaction my sister and I had. First we asked him to sing it; then we asked the obvious question, what does it have to do with the 4th of July.

And sing it he did: "Call ol' Rattler from the barn. Here Rattler! Here Rattler!" As far as I can figure there isn't really a tune, just a kind of HeeHaw kind of beat. You know the kind that makes you want to clap your hands and tap your foot.


If you knew my Dad you would have been surprised to see the smile on his face as he sang. For reasons unbeknown to me this song seemed to tickle his funny bone or, more likely, stirred up a memory he didn't feel like sharing.

My dad, who pretty much has an opinion on most any subject, stated vehemently that Ol' Rattler is as good as any other because there are no definitive 4th of July songs. I know, you're screaming out what about "God Bless America" or "America the Beautiful" or "You're a grand old flag?" which is exactly what my sister and I yelled. I even burst out in a chorus of "a duck may be somebody's mother ...." which I have to admit made his point rather than mine because what in the heck does a duck have to do with the 4th of July?


"Nope," he responded to every song we mentioned. "Those are patriotic songs, not 4th of July songs," he said adamantly, which in effect threw down an invisible gauntlet. I intended to google it and come up with at least one song that is indisputably linked to today's holiday just to prove him wrong. Before I got around to that I realized he'd done it again - hooked us right into a dumb ass debate where there is probably no answer. Like most dad/daughter debates in this family, there was only going to be one winner; that was going to be the person who didn't raise his voice, lose his composure or demand to be "right". Our Dad/daughter differences are usually solved not by agreeing to disagree, but by the daughter stomping off muttering cuss words under her breath. Dad doesn't have to be right because he can outwait us every time.

In my heart of hearts, I feel certain that John Phillip Sousa wrote at least one march specifically for the 4th of July. But in the spirit of love and freedom of choice I defer to the patriot patriarch and will forever think of "Call Ol' Rattler from the Barn" as the quintessential 4th of July song.

Speaking of J. P. Sousa, I'm going to reveal a little known Merry ME fact. I have a special place in my heart for the March King. I don't know why exactly but I do. Has anyone but me seen the 1952 movie, Stars and Stripes Forever, more than once? I must have been a kid when I first saw it and have sustained a secret (guess it's no secret anymore) crush on Robert Wagner ever since; even when he was married to Natalie Wood I lusted after the man who won me over by playing the Sousaphone. Okay, so maybe he didn't really play that instrument, but I was a kid and I was easily if not musically impressed.


In all truth it was not any particular instrument that thrills me when I hear the Sousa's music played by a sharply dressed Marine Corps band. It is the overall performance. In my book it is patriotism personified. The flag waving, the drum beating, the piccolo trilling, the drum major leading the band's way across a parade field with high stepping precision. Be still my heart! I feel a swoon coming on.





[Photo: Self portrait of Sweetie and I. How damn cute is that guy?]


Alas there was no military parade in town that I could convince anyone to attend with me. I had to make do with something closer to home. In years past a patriotic band of neighbors have gathered on a communal grassy circle with decorated bicycles, golf carts, dogs and children to await a local fire company to lead the parade down Weller Ave. - our main street. This morning the tradition continued with a slight variation of the route taken. While the engine's red, white and blue lights flashed and a tape recorder blared standard parade music (not one mentioned a rattler or a barn), a quick prayer was said by the city councilman who lives in the area followed by a group recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance .


Once the formalities were out of the way the parade began. I had it arranged that the route would come right by our house so I festooned Dad's wheelchair with striped crepe paper and put it the driveway for grand stand seating. Because I didn't really want to run the risk that Dad might decide he likes to be pushed, I momentarily weighed the options of wheelchair or walker. Standing, however, even for a short parade, really wasn't an option for Dad. The wheelchair won out.


Each of us dressed in our best patriotic attire; even the dog agreed to a wear a scarf though she was not quite sure what the occasion was. Once we heard the music on the other side of the block, we positioned ourselves for the most advantageous view. [Photo: Eat your heart out Dorothy!]


When the fire engine made its way around the curve I felt a shiver of excitement and pride. As if we were watching a military homecoming parade in New York City, we all hooted and hollered and waved flags at people we don't even know - a caravan of people who not only love their mother country but enjoy getting out to meet their neighbors.

Lately the city where I live has been more like something out of the wild West than of the genteel south. But today, there was no sign of animosity or trouble. Neighbors, young and old, male and female, Republican and Democrats walked together waving flags and hands. It was a reminder of a kinder, gentler time.

During his Naval career, my father participated in dress parades as both inspector and inspectee. Even though this wasn't exactly the same kind of parade I wondered what memories he might have had as people passed by and turned their heads to meet his gaze. Maybe none. Perhaps he was just enjoying the show.

A couple people came up to Dad, introduced themselves and gave him a great big 4th of July hug. I was trying to take pictures but like always was a second or two behind the of best photo ops. I didn't get it on film, but the thing that moved me to tears was when a young boy, maybe 10ish, walked right up to my dad without any sign of shyness or reserve. For a moment, the clock turned backwards. Like in the days before fist bumping, this kid who didn't know my father from Adam, held out his had and Dad returned the favor. In that handshake I caught a glimpse of what this holiday is all about ... remembering, respecting and honoring. God bless America!




Here Rattler! Here Rattler!
Merry ME


P.S. Here's another quote I really liked. When I'm a grown up writer I want to be just like Erma Bombeck.

"You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4,

not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers

who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle,

but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees,

the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness.

You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism."

Erma Bombeck