I Pledge Allegiance

By Beth Cato

I like to see a man proud of the place in which he lives. I like to see a man live so that his place will be proud of him.
~Abraham Lincoln

The first day of junior high school! Excitement crackled in the air. My mom dropped me off at the curb, and I practically skipped onto my brand new campus. Everywhere, kids were greeting each other, grinning and laughing. I waved at familiar faces and called out, "Hi!"

It was weird, but after just three months, everyone looked so different — taller, with new haircuts, new clothes.

I had P.E. for first period. I didn't mind it that much, since it meant I'd get it over and done before the heat of the afternoon. I was weirded out by the locker room though. It even smelled funny — stale and musty. We all bustled around each other, shoving our backpacks beneath the benches, trying to figure out the combinations on our new locks. I smiled at the girls next to me and they smiled back.

In a far corner of the room, a speaker squawked on. "Good morning, Woodrow Wilson Junior High School students! Welcome to the first day of a fabulous new school year. We'll begin with the Pledge of Allegiance."

I tugged my gray gym shirt over my head and my right hand immediately rested over my heart. Around me, other girls froze in place, all of us looking towards the flag draped near the speaker.

A few tears came to my eyes. Every time I did the pledge, I thought of my grandpa. He had died almost a year before, but I still missed him every single day. Grandpa served in World War II and the flag had very special meaning for him. Even if we heard the pledge or the national anthem on TV, we stopped everything and saluted. He would get this distant look in his eyes, like he could see all the way to India and China where he loaded bombers during the war. It had made him proud and sad all at once.

The principal finished reciting the pledge. The other girls unfroze and resumed dressing. The day continued, full of reunions and excitement and groans as we confronted our first homework assignments of the year.

The next morning in the locker room, I noticed something odd. Some of the girls talked through the pledge and continued to change clothes. The morning after that, even fewer paused to place their hands over their hearts. I looked at the gym teachers' cubby and was shocked that they talked and laughed through the pledge, too.

By the second week of school, I was the only girl in the whole locker room who did the Pledge of Allegiance. I stood out. That's when the comments started.

"What do you think you're doing?" sneered one girl.

"The pledge," I said.

"What's wrong with you? We don't have to do the pledge anymore." She tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"Yeah," another girl chimed in, "there's no one to make us do it!" They shared a triumphant grin.

I had known some of these girls since second grade, but now it was like I didn't know them at all. It wasn't just their hairstyles and bodies that had changed over the summer. Something else had changed, too.

The next morning, I hid in a bathroom stall to switch clothes. When the pledge started, I faced a graffiti-covered metal door as I mouthed the words. I couldn't see the flag. My stomach clenched in a great big knot. It felt so wrong to be hiding like that.

I kept hiding for the next week, and it felt worse every single day.

The other girls left me alone, and that should have made me glad. It didn't. Instead, I felt like I was betraying the memory of my grandpa. He risked his life fighting for that flag. I rarely saw him cry, but when he'd hear the song "I'm Proud To Be An American" by Lee Greenwood, tears would fill his eyes. Now, tears were filling my eyes as I cowered in a bathroom stall. I wished that I could go to the teachers for help, but they didn't seem to care about doing the pledge, either.

I cared. I cared a lot.

I spent a weekend gathering up my nerve and practicing what I would say. By the time Monday came, I was nervous, but also calmer than I had been in a long time because I knew I was doing the right thing.

I changed into my gray gym clothes right away and was standing by my locker when the principal began morning announcements. The pledge started and I put my hand over my heart.

A girl nearby slammed her locker shut and looked over at me. "Why are you doing that?" she asked. She didn't sound mean about it, more like she was confused.

"My grandpa fought in World War II and he died last year," I said. "I'm doing it for him."

She blinked. Embarrassment flickered over her face and she looked away. "Oh," she said.

Over the next few weeks, more girls confronted me, thinking they could bully me about the pledge. I gave them all that same answer. Eventually, they stopped asking.

I came to realize something. These kids thought they were rebelling against something they were forced to do in school. The fact was, every single girl in that locker room probably had a family member in the military at some point. With a Navy base nearby, some of them even had enlisted dads.

I never inspired other girls to do the pledge along with me. That was okay. They made a choice; I made mine. It was enough that I stood there, in the open, to say those words. I was doing it for Grandpa, but more than that, I was doing it for myself.

Grandpa raised me to be proud to be an American, and that pride didn't stop because I was in seventh grade.

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