I remember the ice cream. It was plain old Vanilla but it tasted so good and sweet on that hot day so good in fact I barely noticed the old man sit down next to me.
I sat there kicking my feet as fidgety kids often do and he smiled, a sad smile perhaps remembering a time long ago where he kicked his feet licking ice cream.
I looked at him sideways and started to investigate the old man next to me.
He must have been really old, his skin hung in folds and looked as though it was paper thin and if I touched it I was sure it would be feather soft. I looked at his hands they were in similar shape but were covered in brown spots and I imagined connecting those dots. His fingers were curled and gnarled and resembled more claws than fingers and in those "claws" I saw he was holding something.
At this point the old man looked over at me and smiled, noticing I was staring at him. He looked back out over the court square and even though I looked to see what he was looking at, I could see nothing.
The Nebraska wind blew and ruffled what ever he was holding and it drew my eyes back to his lap. His fingers uncurled even though it looked like it was painful he smoothed over the rough looking fabric with a proud look on his face. It was an old flag dirty, torn and frayed but still folded as neatly as possible.
He held that flag as gently as one would a baby as he sat on that bench and he looked back out into nothing remembering a time far off. I asked him where he got his flag and why was it so OLD looking. He looked at me and instead of being offended by my childish bluntness and naivety, he started to tell me a story. A story about how he had become to know the flag he now carried on his lap. I look back now and wish I could have that conversation again and I wish I could remember his story in it entirety but I have forgotten most of it. What I did not forget was that his story was sad, he had been through World War II, the Korean War and Vietnam War and he watched many fall but he said "Our flag did not."
I am not sure if he told me where he got the flag but in my mind now I can imagine where each and every spot, rip and tear came form.
This was inspired by Johny Cash's "Ragged Old Flag"
3 comments:
Very good, descriptive writing. I can picture the old veteran sitting on the bench and wondering to himself if "anyone cares anymore", or "what happened to my America". This is a prime example why it is so important for grandchildren to know their grandparents and listen to their stories, especially in my generation because my parents were the "Great Generation". Personally, I think it would be good for the children of this era to visit a retirement home and just sit and visit with the "old timers" of the 30's, 40's and 50's. They would learn so much and I know the older generation would love to tell their stories to someone. Even if I am in my 60's, I still enjoy talking and learning from those that faced life prior to my teen years. I only wish now, that I would have asked more questions of my parents.
yes. very well written.
I started reading it, and I was like HEY she can't do that... That is like a different version of Cashe's song. Very good poem/song of his too...I almost recited at one of the fever cabin events.
I thought this was very nicely written.
Speaking of hearing stories from your elders, I am doing a paper right now on "legends and tales" I get to interview someone foreign!
Wonderful writing!
Post a Comment