its sheath, carefully set it aside, and looked back into the bag.
I saw something brightly colored and pulled it out. It looked like a red bedsheet that had been folded up. Confused, I started to unfold it slowly, remembering exactly how I was doing it so that when I refolded it, it would tell no tales. After a few unfolds, I saw a large patch of white sewn onto it. Another unfold revealed part of a black symbol stitched onto the white area. One more unfold and I realized that it was a flag. What I didn’t know at the time was that it was a Nazi flag. Another unfold revealed a large black swastika in the center of the white circle. My eight-year-old brain was enthralled. I remembered seeing flags just like this in those war movies my dad had watched, the movies that I didn’t pay much attention to except when bombs were exploding and guys were flying through the air. All I could think was, Wow, this is something my dad brought back from World War II. Beyond that, I had no idea what the flag or the strange symbol that looked like four sevens in a circle stood for. The only thing I knew for sure was that, compared with the old shoes and Christmas presents I was used to finding in our closets, I had just found something very, very cool.
I took the flag and unfolded it completely. It was big, about six feet by four feet. I carried it around the house for a while, pretending to be a general leading my army into battle. The flag was so crisp and new-looking that I was completely enamored with it. I remember thinking that my dad was so cool because he had saved this flag that was part of history and that if everyone else knew my dad had done this, they would think he was cool, too. Maybe they’d even say he was a war hero and he’d get to be in the paper. Our local paper was always running pictures of wrinkled old veterans in their McDonald’s trainee–like army caps every Memorial Day and Veterans Day, and each year I thought that my dad should have his picture in the paper, too, since he probably did more than any of those old grandpa-looking guys ever did. I mean, my dad had landed at
Normandy.
One day after
D Day,
for cryin’ out loud.
Overcome with love for and pride in my father, I figured that I should let the whole neighborhood know just how great a guy my dad really was and decided right then and there to hang the Nazi flag in our front window.
I got some string and tape from the kitchen drawer and rigged up the top corners of the flag so that I could tie them to the curtain rod over our living room window. Once it was secure, I let the flag hang down and adjusted it so that it was centered. Satisfied that I had presented it in the most aesthetically pleasing manner, I went outside to take a look. From our driveway, the Nazi flag looked quite handsome. It filled the entire front window of our house. I walked all the way out to the street and checked it out from there. Yep, it was fully visible to any passing car. I felt good. I felt proud. People were going to love my dad when they saw that flag hanging in the front window of our house, right in their very own neighborhood.
As I stood there admiring my handiwork, my mother drove around the corner and onto our street unexpectedly. At first I was nervous, scared I’d get in trouble for going through my father’s closet. But the more I thought about it, I was sure my mother would be quite pleased that I was performing such a selfless act to show the neighborhood what a cool guy my dad was.
I waved at my mom as her car approached. She waved back with a smile. She turned into our driveway and suddenly her car screeched to a stop. Wow, I thought, she must be really surprised. I bet she’s going to be so proud of me she’ll take me to Dairy Queen. As I stood there debating whether I would order a Mr. Misty Float or a Dilly Bar, my mother immediately jumped out of the car, wild-eyed.
“Where did
that
come from?!” she sputtered.
“It’s Dad’s. I found it in
I saw something brightly colored and pulled it out. It looked like a red bedsheet that had been folded up. Confused, I started to unfold it slowly, remembering exactly how I was doing it so that when I refolded it, it would tell no tales. After a few unfolds, I saw a large patch of white sewn onto it. Another unfold revealed part of a black symbol stitched onto the white area. One more unfold and I realized that it was a flag. What I didn’t know at the time was that it was a Nazi flag. Another unfold revealed a large black swastika in the center of the white circle. My eight-year-old brain was enthralled. I remembered seeing flags just like this in those war movies my dad had watched, the movies that I didn’t pay much attention to except when bombs were exploding and guys were flying through the air. All I could think was, Wow, this is something my dad brought back from World War II. Beyond that, I had no idea what the flag or the strange symbol that looked like four sevens in a circle stood for. The only thing I knew for sure was that, compared with the old shoes and Christmas presents I was used to finding in our closets, I had just found something very, very cool.
I took the flag and unfolded it completely. It was big, about six feet by four feet. I carried it around the house for a while, pretending to be a general leading my army into battle. The flag was so crisp and new-looking that I was completely enamored with it. I remember thinking that my dad was so cool because he had saved this flag that was part of history and that if everyone else knew my dad had done this, they would think he was cool, too. Maybe they’d even say he was a war hero and he’d get to be in the paper. Our local paper was always running pictures of wrinkled old veterans in their McDonald’s trainee–like army caps every Memorial Day and Veterans Day, and each year I thought that my dad should have his picture in the paper, too, since he probably did more than any of those old grandpa-looking guys ever did. I mean, my dad had landed at
Normandy.
One day after
D Day,
for cryin’ out loud.
Overcome with love for and pride in my father, I figured that I should let the whole neighborhood know just how great a guy my dad really was and decided right then and there to hang the Nazi flag in our front window.
I got some string and tape from the kitchen drawer and rigged up the top corners of the flag so that I could tie them to the curtain rod over our living room window. Once it was secure, I let the flag hang down and adjusted it so that it was centered. Satisfied that I had presented it in the most aesthetically pleasing manner, I went outside to take a look. From our driveway, the Nazi flag looked quite handsome. It filled the entire front window of our house. I walked all the way out to the street and checked it out from there. Yep, it was fully visible to any passing car. I felt good. I felt proud. People were going to love my dad when they saw that flag hanging in the front window of our house, right in their very own neighborhood.
As I stood there admiring my handiwork, my mother drove around the corner and onto our street unexpectedly. At first I was nervous, scared I’d get in trouble for going through my father’s closet. But the more I thought about it, I was sure my mother would be quite pleased that I was performing such a selfless act to show the neighborhood what a cool guy my dad was.
I waved at my mom as her car approached. She waved back with a smile. She turned into our driveway and suddenly her car screeched to a stop. Wow, I thought, she must be really surprised. I bet she’s going to be so proud of me she’ll take me to Dairy Queen. As I stood there debating whether I would order a Mr. Misty Float or a Dilly Bar, my mother immediately jumped out of the car, wild-eyed.
“Where did
that
come from?!” she sputtered.
“It’s Dad’s. I found it in
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