T. Max Tatum
PO Box 1019, Guthrie, Oklahoma 73044

A "redneck" holds family, friends and values, like patriotism and the flag, close and defends them when they are threatened.

Let me admit it up front. I am a redneck, a redneck unashamed. My friends even call me "Bulldog." Being a redneck doesn't mean you can't think, and it doesn't necessarily mean that you eat barbecue on the tailgate of your pickup. It doesn't even necessarily mean you have a rifle in your pickup and a bumper sticker with bad grammar.

It does mean that you hold family, friends and values close, and that you defend them when they are threatened.

The American flag protects that family and those friends and values. I love it, unashamed, for that reason. It may be just a symbol, but it's a symbol of all the things I most love and cherish. So if my neck gets a little redder when I see someone desecrate the flag, it's because they are not just attacking a piece of cloth, they are attacking the symbol which represents everything I hold dear.

My friend Stuart M. Cowan of Hawaii found a piece on the Internet and sent it to me. No author was given for it, which I regret, because I'd like to thank him. It's too long to print here, but the idea is this: if someone wants to desecrate the flag, he should be able to, so long as he has gotten permission from three people.

First, from a war veteran, maybe from someone who saw his friends killed around him or was wounded himself, fighting because he believed in the protection that flag represents, not just for America but for people half a world away. See if he will sign off on it.

Then from an immigrant, from someone who risked death at sea in an overcrowded, leaky boat, because freedom was more important to him than the loss of life. Or from the thousands who waited years to enter the country legally, giving up the security of their past lives and family connections, because here they could really contribute to the country and breath free themselves. See if he will sign off on it.

Finally, a mother, who received the flag at the burial of her son who died in the service of the country and the flag. See if she will give him the flag presented to her at the grave of her son, so that he can desecrate it. (Or, if you are tired of living, ask me for the one I was given when my father, a Mason and a Marine, was buried.)

Those who attack the flag attack those people—and more. I'm not saying that's what they intend. No one could be that low. But when we attack that which others hold sacred, we attack them.

It is not that I think this country is perfect. Even rednecks know better than that. I know there is injustice, I know there is discrimination, I know that it is not always fair, even to its own people. I know that we sometimes trample the rights of others into the dust—I've had my rights trampled, at times, as well. But that flag symbolizes a country that knows better and tries to do better. It's like a bulldog pup. Sometimes it's awkward and clumsy; sometimes it trips over its own feet; sometimes it bumps into things; sometimes it chews things up it shouldn't; sometimes it makes a mess of things.

But like that pup, our country comes from good stock. The breeding is right, it's smart, and it will defend you to the death. And it grows up a little each year. It gets a little less awkward, a little more aware of what it's doing. It makes fewer mistakes as it goes along.

That's what the flag means to me; it means a country that's good and trying to be better. It means a promise for a tomorrow that's better than today or any day in the past. And a man who kicks it is just as mean-spirited as a man who kicks a pup. And just as unwise.