Flag Day 2025

Each year on June 14^th, we commemorate the adoption of the Stars and Stripes as our National flag. Rather than do a history lesson, let’s talk about the meaning imbued in those white stars on a blue field and thirteen red and white stripes .

This year, June 14th is the 250th anniversary of the adoption of that symbol of freedom, the beacon to the Shining City on the Hill. Over the past two-and-a-half centuries, more than one million, three hundred thousand Americans of every faith, color, creed and ethnicity have laid down their lives for what that flag represents.

Uncounted millions dream of the opportunity to live under that banner of freedom. Some are seeking escape from breath-taking poverty; others yearn to flee governments that want to erase them for having thoughts or beliefs different from what is allowed in their native land. Whatever the motivation, the shared belief is that under that symbol is the opportunity to make a better life for themselves and their children.

To simply breathe the air in a place where your God-given right to live, worship, assemble, and speak as your heart desires is protected is almost beyond comprehension to generations of millions around the world. More remarkable is what is asked in return. Simply their promise, once here, the exercise of their rights does not interfere with others’ exercise of those self-same rights.

For two hundred and fifty years, this is what our flag has meant. This milestone is a unique moment in human history, one that is worth celebrating, honoring, and cherishing.

Back in high school, I had a friend with family origins in Ireland. His parents were immigrants were from a pretty rural area in Connaught. One day, he stopped by my part-time job at a hotdog stand with a girl, his cousin. She had just arrived from Ireland the day before and he was showing her around the neighborhood. I’m proud to say I served her the very first American hotdog of her life, full Chicago-style no less. Yes, she was an instant addict.

We became fast friends. She was doing a gap year, not before college, but before getting married. She was absolutely certain she was going to marry the boy who grew up “down the lane” and settle into a quiet life in the Irish countryside, we they were both born. Her intended was fortunate as he was to inherit his father’s mechanic shop. He was also away studying electronics as he believed that was the way of the future of automobiles. They’d never be rich, but they’d have a roof and food and a fire. I didn’t know anyone at that age who was that certain, and comfortable, with a life plan. To say she felt proud and lucky to be Irish, to know her heritage, and to know her life plan is an understatement.

Still, my new Irish friend wanted to have a bit of an adventure. She wanted to know what it was like to live in America, for a while. As her aunt and uncle were naturalized citizens, they were able to sponsor her to come and live and work in the land so many of her countrymen emigrated to as the only hope to escape centuries of oppression of English rule.

She arrived shortly before Halloween and was blown away with what we have done with that ancient Irish tradition. Thanksgiving was a wonder, or rather, the size of the turkeys were; the Christmas goose she grew up with was a fraction of the size of the bird gracing the table at another ancient tradition given an uniquely American twist.

The day after Thanksgiving ,“Black Friday”, confused her. Initially, she thought it must commemorate a day of tragedy of some sort. I explained to her the only tragedy was that which was experienced by those that had to work in retail on that day. “Black Friday” simply referred to the color of the ink that would be used in the ledger books of retailers, thanks to this start of the Christmas shopping season. She joked that made it a bookkeepers holiday of celebration.

On that one and only Black Friday of her life, I took her via public transportation to downtown Chicago. I intentionally chose the bus – the very, very much longer trip to give her the full tour of the neighborhoods of Chicago. Every few miles, she would be agog all over again as the signs in the store windows changed languages. “Living cheek by jowl, all together” was more than she could comprehend.

She then asked me about “black” people, where did they live? She had seen a few “blacks” in the airport on her way, and believed that Americans kept “them” in separate areas. I told her to just wait, knowing our bus route was about to take us through a couple neighborhoods that weren’t just predominantly Black, but through sizeable immigrant African communities. She was amazed that Americans didn’t treat “blacks” any different, contrary to what she was taught in her schooling. In fact,  we were welcoming new Black people from Africa.

As we were doing the single most Christmas-y, tourist-y thing one could in downtown Chicago, a ride in a horse-drawn carriage down Michigan Avenue under trees illuminated with millions of fairy lights, she said something to me that I will never forget. In fact, I’ve told this story about Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas now, in honor of Flag Day, June 14^th, solely to set the stage.

“Now I get it. Now I understand why America is the place the world dreams of coming to. It is hard here, everything is expensive, nothing is close-by, and you really do need a car to live. But, what you get for that hard work? Opportunity. Choice. Freedom. You can live any way you want, you can keep your culture, your food, your religion and still be accepted into part of the whole. I get it.”

My friend returned to Ireland a little less than a year after she arrived. She loved America. I got to see her moved to tears time and again at how Americans celebrate their freedom. Through her, I saw the fireworks at Buckingham Fountain on the 4^th of July through new eyes, a sight I have never since taken for granted.

The single most profound moment was on a trip with her aunt, uncles, and cousins to see a Blackhawks hockey game at the old Chicago Stadium. With the announcement of the National Anthem, the entire packed house went silent in reverence, all eyes on the enormous American Flag as the first strains reverberated, “O, say can you see…”.

At “…the rockets red glare…”, the cheering started. She startled then literally fell into her seat with a look of astounded wonder and awe, tears streaming down her face. Later, she said the feeling that welled up in her was something she had never experienced and had no words to describe. She couldn’t imagine how it must feel to Americans. I told her she didn’t have to imagine it, she heard it. Nearly 20,000 people cheering for our flag and National Anthem will forever be the soundtrack of the American flag in my heart, and in the heart of an Irish girl living on a quiet lane in Connaught.

This is what the American flag represents. It’s more than mere pride in the Nation in which we are fortunate to live. It is also an idea, a feeling, a dream for millions around the world who for the past 250 years have looked at that symbol for the promise it holds.

There is a quote I think of often these days. It is as appropriate these days as when it was first stated shortly after the Vietnam War –

“America is worth fighting for, even when she’s wrong”.

Category: America