My father probably
would have a few choice words for NFL players who take a knee during the
national anthem, but he had his reasons.
Edwin Bukowski was 13
months old when he lost his father.
There was a stepfather for a while, but he was so bad my Polish and
Catholic grandmother divorced him in 1927.
That was around the time my father left grammar school, in the seventh
grade, to help out the family. An older
brother got to go to college, but not Ed.
The dutiful son held a
variety of jobs until he found one on the far edge of the world, at the Ford
Motor plant out on Torrence Avenue. In
1943, he switched over to the Chicago Fire Department; other men spent a few
years in the 1940s dodging bullets, my father began a 35-year career running in
and out of burning buildings. To each
his own, you might say.
By the time I was old
enough to notice things, we always flew the flag on holidays. My father was so attached to the Stars and
Stripes he gave U.S. flags—the heavy-duty cotton kind—as housewarming gifts to
my sister Barb and to me. I’ve always made
sure to fly the flag on holidays, so often that Clare has had to attend to it a
la Betsy Ross with needle and thread. I
also have the cast-iron American eagle my father salvaged from a bank across the
street from his firehouse. It had been
discarded during a renovation. My father
never said why he wanted it, but I’m guessing it used to be right next to a
flagpole.
My dad had opinions he
willingly shared on politics, sports and current events, but he rarely opened
up about his own life and certainly not about the reasons for his patriotism. All I can do is guess that he was grateful to
his country of birth for the success he had later in life. How great was the United States to Ed
Bukowski? Why, it even had a place in it
for his odd-ball son, with those odd-ball notions of his.
I fly the flag because
I don’t want anyone else defining what patriotism is, and I stand for the
national anthem as much for my father as anything. But other people have different histories,
different experiences, that demand my respect.
If they take a knee when others stand at attention, so be it. That’s their right.
If only Mike Ditka
understood. “There has been no
oppression in the last 100 years that I know of,” the ex-Bears’ coach related
in a radio interview Monday night. Ditka
went on to say, “I think you have to respect the game [of pro football]. That’s what I think is the most important
thing. I don’t see a lot of respect.”
If Ditka means Odell
Beckham Jr. doing his dog impression after scoring a touchdown, I agree. But if he means national anthem protests,
then I’d have to ask since when does the game start at the anthem? I’ve never seen a penalty flag thrown during
the anthem, only after. My father never
forced his deeply held beliefs on me, which is one of many reasons Mike Ditka
doesn’t come close to measuring up to Ed Bukowski.
