Saluting the flag was something not encountered very often here in the 1970s UK, in fact that kind of nationalism or patriotism was something I'd been warned about as a young boy, being brought up in the Jehovah's Witnesses from age 4, through meetings and the publications. At some point, I don't know when, I decided it was more American, whether rightly or wrongly.
But even so, there was a large black and white photo of our entire school in panoramic format right outside my classroom on the wall saluting the flag, and I think this was the 1977 25 year jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II.
Now as a young person attending a fairly religious school in the 1970's, you were used to "making a stand" for things, letter in hand first day in a new class, and being ushered into one room or another to avoid religious assemblies and other xmas, and other seasonal celebrations.
One day the teachers, in their abundant wisdom, stood myself and a younger Witness in the corridor right outside the assembly hall where the children would filter past. Every second or third child that filtered past would ask, "why are you standing there?" To which we would just say a few words and tediously repeat to every child which asked.
But there was one thing that would really make my little head worried... the jubilee, the saluting of the flag. In fact, it didn't matter the 1977 jubilee had been and gone. I was still worried that a situation involving saluting the flag would be thrust upon me and I wouldn't know what to do or how to make a stand, or even how to explain it.
So, what I did was ask my mother every day before leaving for school, "mom, are they saluting the flag today?" and she would say "no, of course not," and that was fine, for a day, for a week, for a term, until one day, I forgot to ask her.
Really it's no wonder as an adult that I suffer from Anxiety and have struggled with stress one way or another over the years. That day, I would not forget that I had forgotten to ask my mother, would they salute the flag, and I was filled with dread, clenching my fists and biting my nails, just waiting for the clock to tick by, every second closer to home time when I could finally breath. But one day that wasn't before asking to go to the medical room, because I felt sick, and bent over that sick room toilet wrenching to try to make myself sick. Oh yes, I went home that day for sure, my face was red, I was sweaty and probably looked extremely worn down from all that well, real stress, and the effects of trying to be sick.
And everyday I would ask my mother again, and every day I saw that large panoramic picture on the wall on the way into class.
I'm pleased to say today, as I contextualise these events, although I can't completely shake the events completely out of my mind (us anxiety sufferers can have the habit of replaying painful memories) I do have two wonderful boys age 2 and 3 (nearly 4) every time I look at them or explain about the school they will go to, or nursery or what they have to look forward to, I am filled with that joy that brings tears to your eyes.