So we took him at his “word” and let him go with us. A wind
symphony presented an hour of stirring patriotic music as a troop of Boy Scouts
distributed free ice cream and flags. Kids frolicked, flags waved,
and the band played on. All in attendance enjoyed themselves.
Afterwards, he and I had a quiet moment on our balcony
overlooking the city, he in his most faithful Norman Rockwell form and me as,
well … just me. We each enjoyed a cigar, which he has taken to relishing, and I
enjoyed a glass of wine, which makes him nauseated.
“You know,” he said, blowing a cloud of smoke toward a
peaceful city, “your species never ceases to amaze and confuse me.”
“How so?”
“Every time I am forced to file a report to the Falloonian
Elders implying that the time for the dompetallendich
of your species, a time like this comes along.”
Oh dear. That’s a Falloonian word for final solution that
you, dear reader, don’t even want to know about. “Please,” I said, “the ladies
might hear you.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “I think events of late have
redeemed you for a while, despite those horrible political candidates you are
breeding.”
“How so?” I was most anxious to change the subject.
“Did you see the enthusiasm for your country that people
expressed?”
I nodded.
“Enthusiasm,” he said, “generated only by the comradeship of
a crowd and the effects of music.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “and this only a few days since all those
remembrances of the brave young men storming ashore on the beaches of France,
willing to face annihilation to rid the world of the dark forces that had
emerged on your planet.”
“That was one of our finest moments,” I said.
“We’ve also remember in June,” he said in a somber tone, “some
people of your country who gave their lives in seeking civil rights for your
brothers and sisters of color, including Medgar Evers, James Chaney, AndrewGoodman and Michael Schwerner.”
“Quite so,” I said.
“Did you know,” he said, “that your country began the so-
called ‘Berlin Airlift’ in June, 1947, saving hundreds of thousand German
citizens from starvation?”
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Please remember, Earthling friends, that your flag flies over all your actions, both the just and the unjust - C.W. |
“Of course,” I said, squirming a bit. “everyone knows about
that.”
“The Civil Rights Act, women’s suffrage, the care of your
poor and elderly, the moon landing, the ‘I Have a Dream’ speech, the MarshallPlan, and the Emancipation Proclamation,” he said, “not to mention the stand by
the brave few on Cemetery Ridge that spelled the end of the dark forces of
slavery in your country.” He paused for a breath, and said, “I’m glad old John
Adams did it.”
“Did what?” I said, still stuck on thoughts of Gettysburg.
“Got his resolution passed on June 14, 1777. Don’t you read
history?”
“Uh, yes,” I said, “but I forget at my age. What resolution
was that?”
“Dope,” he said, "...that the flag of the thirteen
United States shall be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the
union be thirteen stars, white on a blue field, representing a new
constellation."
“Oh yeah,” I said. “That one.” I took a sip of wine and he
blew cigar smoke toward me.
“Your flag means something to an alien visitor,” he said.
“And what is that?”
“It means your country can be a great one,” he said, adding, “When it
wants to.”
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