Hello everyone--take a look at my posting. This was written about a year and a half ago--believe it or not, I was stalling on the computer writing an essay when my mind started to wander, and...voila! Is She my Queen too---The flag? Fourth grade. I remember sitting with my mother during a rehearsal for an "International Culture Night." The people were up on stage, dancing to a silent beat as they modeled their different costumes from different lands. A kimono floats on, then off stage. A Filipino gown saunters along. Mom sits beside me and talks to woman I've never seen before. The woman looks important, because her name tag hangs importantly on her left pocket, and she holds her clipboard importantly and scribbles a name down with importance. She leaves and mother turns to me. "You'll be on stage, honey." Huh? Me? What? What will I do? "You get to hold the United States flag during the parade of flags," I was very confused. You mean I am American too?! Suzie with the curly golden pigtails was american. Johnny my best frien with the freckles bouncing on his chubby cheeks, whose blue eyes I used to envy--he was American. But little me, with the lead colored hair, sallow skin, and a name that no one says correctly, me I am American too? The special night--I wore my favorite dress. White top with ruffles that substituted for where suspenders would be, connected to a red plaid print bottom. Blue tights, and brown loafers completed my ensemble. The flag was heavy, and when I paraded off stage, it leaned forward, backward, and the tip made tiny circles. If I had stared at those certain invisible circles, I would have puked, for I get motion sickness easily. But I did not get sick. I felt proud, for my identity as an American was confirmed by this act of holding up this sacred symbol and showing the workd my dedication to keep it flying in the air. Though I have grown, I have never forgotten what the feeling was when I paraded that flag in that gymnasium, in front of that crowd. Oh, how light the flag felt. Now, I wonder why it has become harder to hold up the flag. I have learned that the flag I carried around--that red, white, blue queen was not as perfect as she looked while I held her up high. I have discovered her flaws, mis-stiches, and moth holes so old, this flag could have been born when the red and whites represented only those red and white colonies, the extra stars added for amusement. I have lost that awe for the American flag. I have realized that the glare from her eyes looking down on me, no matter how hard I try to keep her up high, will always see YELLOW and never the yellow, white, red, blue that I am. *Ai Kongkeo: great, thanks for posting my article for me. :} Soudary