At some point during my brother’s illness, my aunt and uncle came to watch my sisters and me. I remember mercifully little about those days, but I remember that they brought us to see the submarines in Groton.
That’s not to say that the wars of my youth were any more meaningful or any less questionable. They were just as suspect—but they were mine—and this war is not.
It’s a matter of the flag being the symbol of a people conjoined in harmony. It doesn’t belong to a party or group or a president, but a people united under shared principles.