My
father, a World War II veteran, died on January 6, 2017, at the age
of 101. He was buried with military honors at the small Nichols Farm
Burial Grounds behind the firehouse in Trumbull, CT. The service was
dignified, moving and for me, unforgettable. After a volley of shots,
the bugler played taps, and the American flag, which had draped my
father's coffin, was carefully folded in the traditional tri-cornered
shape, which I have since learned is emblematic of the tri-cornered
hat worn by the patriots of the American Revolution.
The
flag, showing only the blue field with stars, was then presented to
me by a member of the Army honor guard with these words:
This emblem of our freedom, and all those who fought and gave up their lives for that freedom, now rests on a shelf in my home where I see it daily.
I
am grateful for many things, but this Independence Day, as I look
lovingly and with pride at that flag, I am particularly grateful that
when the banner that represents our great country was presented to
me, the individual who held the revered office of President was a
decent, respectable man, just like my dad.
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