By Jonetta Rose Coffin
Herald Writer
The little flag pin has seen a lot of history, though most of it has been from the inside of a jewelry box.
It came into my family as a gift to my mother in the early 1960s. She was the secretary for a branch of the John Birch Society in southern California, and the pin was given to her by the branch president as a thank you for her volunteer work.
Related stories: |
|
There was nothing spectacular about it — just a little bit of red, white and blue enamel on gold — but to the eyes of an 8-year-old it was way cool, and I wanted to wear it.
It was off limits to me, though, because Mother wore it constantly and proudly. In fact, only when dressed up for an evening of dancing would she leave the house without it.
She was wearing it on Nov. 22, 1963, the day President Kennedy died, but shortly after that, she took a new job, and we moved to a different city. Her days with the John Birch Society ended, and the little pin was tucked away in her jewelry box.
Mother probably would have let me wear it after that, but by then I no longer considered it cool. The Beatles had landed and the Union Jack was more in vogue. And besides, the little flag had become tainted, rightly or wrongly, by reactions to the war in Vietnam.
It passed the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy in 1968 inside Mother’s jewel case, but when she died in August of that year, it took up residence in my own.
For the next 33 years it rested in the dark with an odd assortment of bedfellows: a gold peace symbol pendant, a Russian Orthodox cross, an engagement ring carved out of wood.
It traveled from southern California to northwestern Washington during those years, and saw the Vietnam War, the Watergate scandal and resignation of Richard Nixon, the Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush and Clinton years — and all the other world events and personal memories in between — pass into history.
More than once the little pin narrowly escaped going the way of garage sales and Goodwill donations, but for some reason I could never quite bring myself to part with it.
On Sept. 11 of this year, I was glad not to have given it away, and suddenly it became very important to bring the little flag back into the light.
After a couple hours of searching through dusty boxes buried in the closet — while in the background the television grimly recounted the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon — I found the old jewelry box, with the small piece of metal and enamel safely tucked away inside.
I’m not sure why, exactly, the little flag means so much to me now. My political philosophy hasn’t changed dramatically overnight, and the thought of retaliation for the attacks, however justified and necessary, still makes me sad because of the pain and suffering it will bring.
But in questioning the pin’s importance I keep coming back to the words of a good friend; words that remind me how much I have often taken for granted.
More than once he has remarked that, "If you were born in this country, you’ve already won the lottery."
He’s right, and in his words I find my answer.
Talk to us
> Give us your news tips.
> Send us a letter to the editor.
> More Herald contact information.