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