By Charlotte K. Jarmy

Reflections

The flags are down; the festive barbecues are over, but the holiday lingers on. The Fourth of July celebration always becomes part of my unspoken sense of pride in being an American. That, of course, means the United States, not the other legitimate Americas. In the ’60s, overt patriotism almost became the “P” word because of the emotional purge caused by the war in Vietnam.

Yet when I participate in or view the breathtaking national love of our flag and history during the holiday, I choke up with caring so deep, the tears flow easily. For my generation, WWII will always be THE war when boys we knew left this country for an uncertain fate. At home, patriotism won out over fear, over sacrifice of comfort, and even over loss.

I lost no one close to me, though my brother and favorite cousins counted themselves among the millions that served our country. Blue stars in most windows gave us reason for hope; gold stars in a family’s window created pain for everyone who saw them. Two young men who died are part of my memories: a former teen-aged boyfriend and a neighbor who lived across the hall.

Young women, called “girls” in those days, wrote to many “boys” in uniform and fell in love with all of them. We worried about each one, and our young appetites were turned on by all those strong warriors. The glow retreated to normal boy-girl relationships when the glamorous uniforms came off after the war. My heart still flipped for a handsome Marine assigned to UN headquarters at uptown Hunter College. We even tiptoed around the possiblity of love, but his background as a midwesterner, totally alien to my urban Jewish experience, ended the fantasy.

The man who brought the war back into my life was my first young love who became my husband and the father of our three sons. Always in his heart were the dreadful but somehow romantic memories of his Air Force experiences, when he was a lead navigator for the “Bloody 100″ B-17 group that dropped the bombs over Europe.

In his young life, World War II took precedence over all other experiences, even marriage, even fatherhood. As he and his friends aged, these former warriors returned to the acts of heroism, horror and bravery they had been part of, loving each other and understanding patriotism in a way most of us could never emulate.

To this day, the flag embodies all of these memories and emotions for me. My first love is gone; my second fills my life with joy. Even Vietnam, which I hated because I taught some of the boys who went so reluctantly to fight for a cause no one really understood, entered my sense of loyalty and pain as I walk past that magnificently portrayed silent wall of names in Washington, D.C.

Today more monuments have been built or are in the planning stage for the mall in Washington, D.C. Japanese-Americans will feel part of the surge of patriotism as their memorial’s list of names joins the others. President Roosevelt’s figure sculpted in stone will recall his strength at a time when our country needed him. The Holocaust Memorial adds a somber sorrow to memories of devastating events.

Over the years, this historic spot will attract younger Americans. From Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Roosevelt to the thousands of names on dark walls, we can all remember the price so many paid for freedom.

Jarmy’s column is published the third week of the month. Send comments and suggestions to her c/o editor Bruce Barton at bruceb@latc.com.