Freedom, Flour, and the National Anthem

What My Veteran Parents Taught Me About Patriotism—and Why I Still Believe in the Promise of America

I was raised by veterans. I come from a long line of them. In our family, patriotism wasn’t just a belief—it was a birthright.

I have a fond memory from my teen years. I was sitting in the living room, legs crossed on our deep teal-colored carpet. The national anthem began to play on TV.

Without missing a beat, my parents stood—reminded me of all the times I saw them stand at attention on base. Except this was our living room.

My dad removed his hat and covered his heart.

My mom stopped cooking, brushed the flour off her hands and did the same.

And I watched them—two people who had served their country, sacrificed for it, believed in it—give reverence to a flag and a promise.

A promise they had both fought to protect.

My mom served four years in the Army. She is now a 100% disabled veteran. My dad served for almost two decades, and then continued in the reserves. Service has always been our family language. I have grandparents, cousins, uncles—all who wore the uniform. And through them, I learned what patriotism really means.

It’s not performative. It’s not political. It’s personal.

It’s about honoring the people who gave their lives.

And most critically, it’s about protecting the promise they fought and died for:

That we are all created equal.

That we are endowed by our Creator with certain unalienable rights.

That our country will protect our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

That freedom is ours—but only if we fight to protect it.

That promise was sacred in my house. And it still is.

I love this country.

I love it not blindly, but deeply.

This is the country that raised me, shaped me, educated me.

The country whose public schools nurtured my curiosity.

The country whose social safety nets protected me from poverty.

The country whose diversity and subcultures taught me to see the world in all its glorious shapes and colors.

The country whose contradictions have made me question, wrestle, grow.

The country that tests my soul with its divisions—and still teaches me how to hope.

And it’s because I love this country that I feel such a deep ache right now.

I see leaders turning us against each other.

I see cruelty becoming policy.

I see flags waved like weapons, and justice treated like a partisan issue.

I see vehement resistance to the fundamental principle, declared almost 250 years ago, that we are ALL equal. 250 years later and we still haven't figured out.

And I think—this isn’t the America I love.

But that doesn’t mean I love it any less.

It means I love it enough to tell the truth.

To say this isn’t good enough.

To demand more, not because I hate my country—but because I still believe in the promise of it.

Because real patriotism doesn’t deny our failures.

It demands that we face them.

Real patriotism isn’t passive.

It’s participatory.

It’s not about nostalgia—it’s about stewardship.

So this Fourth of July, I’m not celebrating perfection. I’m remembering the promise.

And I’m recommitting to it—again and again.

Because I love this country. And I still believe in what we could become.

I was raised to stand for the anthem. Today, I stand for the promise of what our country can be.

✨ Make it a Fourth to Remember

This Fourth of July, don’t just light a sparkler. Light a conversation. Call someone you love. Ask them what this country means to them. Ask yourself what you want it to mean—for your kids, your neighbors, your future.

We don’t need to agree on everything. But we do need to agree that the promise is worth protecting.

Let’s be the kind of people who love this country enough to make it better. Who don’t just wave the flag—but live the values it’s meant to represent.

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Here’s to love. To legacy. To holding the promise sacred.

Happy Fourth.

—Kristy

The American Flag - a symbol of heritage, sacrifice, and home.