At Attention

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.