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Posted on 07/04/2002 9:55:37 AM PDT by carlo3b

Thankfully I was born an American. Born in the greatest nation in the history of the world. But I became an American, slowly and decisively over my entire life, and these were but a few of my moments of decision;
 

When my 92 year old great Grandfather, an immigrant for the bowels of depravity in Italy stood in a crowded church basement and took the pledge of allegiance to his beloved country to finally become a citizen, after struggling to overcome illiteracy and poverty, and raise a fine and honorable family. He had to study and take the test to prove he knew enough about this country and it's founding and history and government to qualify to contribute to it's greatness.
At the conclusion of the ceremony, he broke down and cried for the first and only time I ever remember in his distinguished life. At that moment I remember thinking it must be special to be an American.

When my 4th grade teacher, the first and only black person, man or woman at that time, with courage enough to enter the forbidden bigotry of my Little Italy neighborhood, called me into the hallway to tell me that I must hurry home because my beloved grandfather had just been rushed to the hospital.
My eyes must have shown my utter horror of that moment. She grabbed me and held me tightly to her breast for what was the single most important thing I needed in the whole world. I remember thinking I loved this brave woman, that found her way into my life in this great land. I remember being thankful I was in America.

I remember when General Mac Arthur, passed my gathered family, standing and waving our Flags, we had waited for hours to get a glimpse of our heroes', in a ticker tape spectacular parade honoring the ending of World War II, and he turned and looked at ME, and smiled. I was breathless, and oh so proud to be an American.

I remember another parade, where leaders of the procession, were the last remaining soldiers, surviving the civil war. These 10 or so old men and 1 woman, in their faded uniforms, from both sides of the conflict, walked slowly past a wildly cheering crowd, I broke away from my aunt and uncle (he a vet from WWI) and handing my small flag to one of those patriots. When I returned to the sideline I was kissed by a total stranger. You can bet I was so very proud to be an American.

I remember being chosen to recite the Preamble to our Constitution at the school assembly celebrating Memorial Day. We had spent the entire year learning the history of this glorious land in our 5th grade class. All the bravery and struggling it took to scratch this wonderful country into existence.
I messed up at one point during my oration, and the principle leaned over and whispered the forgotten word, and winked at me and smiled. I finished to an applause, and bowed and looked at our flag and gave thanks the ordeal was over and that I was proud to be a good American boy.

There was a not so proud moment when this county's greatness came into my focus. I had broken a window playing stick ball in the middle of the street, and ran like the dickens to hide before we were caught. I hugh Irish Chicago Police officer came to our door during dinner that night, he asked if I would step out side. My mom told me to hurry and followed me to the stoop where a few of my friend were already in what looked like custody.
We were asked if we had done the deed, I looked at my mom in shame, then at my friends who were looking at their shoes, and answered yes. He took us to the police station, and made us listen to a lecture about the poor old folks that had to scrap their nickels and dimes to repair our damage, and asked if we were willing to work off the damage, instead of the electric chair, which we were sure was the other option.
We were made scrub the headstones and statues of fallen patriots at our Memorial cemetery, and that the local Vets would replace the window in repayment. We did it happily and proudly, only my folks and the parents of the others made us do it every year from that point until we graduated from high school. I read those names every year, and seeing the new ones that were being added during the Korean conflict, some of which were the family members of own friends. I remember crying silently at the loss, and yes dear God I was proud to be an American.

On my 18th birthday, I stood tall at the induction center and while reciting my oath, and allegiance to my country, I remembered all those things. I left home for the last time, I was finally a real man, and given the opportunity to say to my country Thanks from my grandpa, my family, my neighborhood, and all of those that had given all of this to us.  I was proud to serve my country, and to this day I thank GOD I have a country like America to give what I could, including my life if necessary. Yes, I am an American.

There are so many more things that have happened in my and our lives to fortify my belief in this great nation...
 
 
 

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