Alert for Democracy… With Socks

I am an American.

So why does the unexpected display of an American flag frighten me?

When I see someone driving around with an American flag on their car, a shiver zips through my skin. American flag pins on lapels warn me not to touch your creepy hand.

And those t-shirts people wear with the flag drained of color or with weirdly toned stripes or angry eagles?

I will back my grocery cart out of that aisle, resisting the urge to run out of the grocery store screaming, “ZOMBIES!!!”

Instead, I take a deep breath and go back to checking the eggs for broken shells. You know, staying casual.

Because if you start screaming, they know you know.

But when I see an American flag in front of a government building, I feel pride. When I attended my uncle’s funeral, his son arranged a 21 gun salute. A flag draped over his coffin was folded in the classic triangle and handed to my aunt—all of this almost 70 years after he served in World War II.

I watched with reverence. While my uncle hadn’t died during his service, he’d cared enough to put his life on the line. And he wasn’t alone. All of his brothers served in the military. My grandparents sent two boys into the second world war and one to Korea.  Several of my cousins served in the military as well, and I feel deeply grateful to them for their service.

During the pandemic, my country supported me and my health with mask mandates and stimulus payments that kept our little household going. And even now, as I work toward this new career as a writer and coach, my state is assisting me with a grant to pay my mortgage; my wife applied for her social security and is going through the process of getting disability payments, and we’re both supported in our health insurance by Medicaid and Obamacare.

I am an American.

So I decided a few years ago to take my flag back.

A friend gave me two pairs of wacky socks. She’s been getting them for years, gifts from friends and children. I love wacky socks, and when she discovered this, she began handing them over to me. I, of course, usually wear my own homemade socks, but these hand-me-downs are thin, perfect for the end of spring or beginning of fall. One pair of socks was blue with white stars and the other, red and white striped.

Now I have two identical pairs of patriotic socks! Blue with white stars on one foot and red and white striped on the other.

“I’m taking my flag back!” I thought as I surveyed my outfit in the full-length mirror. All gray except for the socks, which made them stand out. I wore them for Election Day 2020.

Now, I have made fun of the people who wear flags as clothing. And nothing irritates me more than someone draped in the American flag with a bright red hat on, professing to be a “real American.”

ZOMBIE!!!

Do you think I’m an alarmist? Because many folks I know whose relatives have embraced this authoritarian regime trying to rise tell stories of how it seems like their relatives aren’t even there anymore—that they are just mouthing talking points they heard on Fox News, accepting falsehoods as facts and disengaging from reality.

And, of course, you know the roots of the word, “dictator,” right? No? Oh, let’s analyze the word for clues.

First, of course, is the “dic,” and here we must assume that the person who came up with the word simply left the “k” off because theirs was so small.

Have you ever noticed how dick can mean penis, but also dick can mean asshole? The English language has a lot to answer for.

The second part, of course, is “tator” which we know from living in the South means “potato.” Though they did get the spelling wrong—It should be “tater.” I know this from a kid in my high school whose nickname was “Tater.” He had a long time girlfriend that folks occasionally called his “sweet tater,” and then go on to say that they would get married and have a bunch of “tater tots.” She dumped him not long after I heard this joke for the first time.

I don’t remember Tater’s real name.

Anyway, these folks have accepted the Penis-Potato as their ruler now.

ZOMBIE!!!

When I look across a crowd of Black Lives Matter protesters, I see Americans.

When I look at a Pride parade dancing through town, I see Americans.

When I look at a group of food trucks serving fare from around the world, I see Americans.

And I see everything I love about America.

And that’s why, this year, for my spring/early summer knitting project, I cast on a pair of red, white, and blue socks. These socks hold my hopes and fears for our country. Made from a sock yarn dyed by a small American business, these stripes are red, white, blue, pink, and a variegate of all of them.

As we learned that SCOTUS was about to overturn Roe, I added another color, a fluorescent safety green. Because we must be alert for our democracy. The forces of the Penis-Potato are among us.

These socks sing of this danger. A song composed to elude the Zombie virus, to reach through the rhythms of the authoritarian speeches and save those who can be saved.

The Penis-Potato wants our flag to frighten people. But I think of the 50 white stars on that flag—how every single state gets a star, how if a territory becomes a state (I see you, Puerto Rico!), we’ll redesign the flag to add another star.

And I think of how those 13 stripes stand for our history. The original states that banded together and fought for independence from a monarchy.

This flag is mine, too. And I get to say that it stands for democracy. For inclusion.

I feel about this country a lot like I do about my younger brother. I may fight with him and call him names, but you don’t get to do that. Especially if you are saying you’re his friend and then betraying his trust.

I may be conflicted in my own feelings, seeing and experiencing the harm of misogyny and white supremacy, but I also feel like it’s what makes me an American: that I can question the government and say what I think, and no one in the government can make me stop.

And those Penis-Potatoes in the red hats want to change that. They want to control what we say, who can say it, what we can do, and who we can do it with.

Stay alert for democracy, my friends.

Time to take back our flag.

Image courtesy of LA Bourgeois