Listening to My Own Drummer

We all are—or should be—aware of the practice of professional athletes taking a knee during the playing of the national anthem.  A great deal of debate has arisen over these athletes exercising their First Amendment rights.  As a Quaker and as a liberal, I am in full support of anyone’s freedom to express themselves in any reasonable way possible.  If it be the taking of a knee, turning one’s back on a speaker, or remaining seated during the playing of the national anthem, so be it.  I do not view it as disrespecting the flag or veterans.  In the contrary, I view it as their right as an American to make their statement in their own way.

Over the past two years plus at the playing of the “Star Spangled Banner” before any baseball game I have attended—over 200—I have declined to remove my hat.  Early Quakers, from what I know, refused to remove their hats in the presence of the king.  Why, on God’s green earth, should I be required to remove my hat for a piece of cloth?  A friend of mine—a retired Air Force colonel—became quite upset with me and told me that he felt like putting his fist through my face when I first declined to remove my cap or salute the flag.  Over time, his anger cooled and we are now back on good terms.

A few weeks ago I became rather upset with Donald Trump’s caving into both Kim Jung Un and Vladimir Putin.  His giving away the house while getting nothing in return from Kim in return and his taking Putin’s word over those of the U.S. Intelligence Service regarding the meddling in the 2016 by the Russians was the last straw.  At that point I decided that I should no longer stand for the national anthem and the piece of cloth that represents a government led by a person so corrupt and in love with himself and not acting like a leader when such is needed, I just couldn’t stomach it any longer.  At that point, I decided that I could no longer stand during the national anthem.

What started out as a protest has morphed into a spiritual leading for me.  A good friend of mine from the Madison (WI) Friends Meeting remarked on one of my Facebook posts that he doesn't stand for the national anthem.  Considering Chuck’s words and his practice, I have come to the realization that in being true to myself, it is no longer necessary for me to follow the lead of the crowd, standing when they do; saluting when they do; and following their path.  I am blazing my own trail and will go whither it leads me.

Some of my baseball buddies took heated exception to my “statement” and started giving me a bunch of grief.  One of my supposed buddies, Mike Sullivan, really lit into me a couple weeks ago, trying to psychoanalyze me while asserting that he has a Masters degree in psychology.  To be quite honest, I really don’t give a crap about his two PhDs or his three Masters.  He said I was just trying to get attention to myself.  I responded that I’ve been doing that for the past ten seasons the the Bradenton Marauders have been in town, by heckling the opposition teams.

As has been my practice, when a young person is singing “The Star Spangled Banner”, rather than remaining seated I will go behind the grandstand until they have finished.  Last evening I approached my seat with the intention of dropping off my backpack and going behind the grandstand when Mike all of a sudden bellowed out to a woman standing in the aisle that, “This guy doesn’t stand during the national anthem”.  I immediately decided to sit out not only the singing of the anthem but also the striking of the colors by the local Civil Air Patrol cadets who had presented them as part of the opening ceremonies.  Just as the first pitch was being thrown, Sullivan got in my face and started hollering at me about my disrespecting the flag and the veterans who fought for it (he knows that I’m a veteran, but it doesn’t make any difference to him).  He kept hollering at me and berating me, again saying that I was out to draw attention to myself.  I kept my cool and finally, in a very un-Quakerly and calm way said, “Fuck you”.  That really got him wound up and he demanded that I repeat what I had said for the benefit of a couple Marauder officials—Nick, the Head of Stadium Operations; and Craig, the Assistant General Manager.  I obliged him and all I got was a grin from both gentlemen.  Mike, in all his high and mightiness, while still berating me, dropped a shit bomb me, which I immediately asked Nick and Craig if they had heard it.

I kept my cool the entire time—even while inviting Sullivan to “be fruitful and multiply” in so many words.  A couple cops were alongside Nick and Craig in case things got out of hand.  Of course, Mike finally diverted his attention from me to the baseball game and cooled down after a while.  I don’t know what got into him this evening.  Perhaps it was because Big Tom, an Air Force vet who sits behind us and who had been absent for the last home stand, was there.  I guess Mike must have felt he had adequate back-up in Tom.  In any event, we enjoyed watching the game—although not the final score—and commented back and forth to each other about game situations as if nothing had happened.

I can hardly wait for tonight’s game…