Tomorrow, I shall fly the Union Jack.
It’s not the official flag of England, but it’s the one which I identify with Britain.
In all the helplessness and turmoil of this morning, it’s the one thing which I can do to signify that I, all the way across the globe, stand with my friends in England.
I was so very reminded of 9/11, when people across the globe flew our Stars and Bars to show their solidarity with us in our time of grief and pain. I was awestruck by that outpouring of expression.
On 9/11, I was working with a small City here. I went to the store to buy yellow ribbon, but they had sold out. So, I bought a yellow vinyl table cloth and began to cut it up. As I was doing this, the men began to come into the shop to clock out. One by one, they came by the table …
Ms. 90, can I have one ? … One for my wife’s car too? … Um … one for my brother?
These guys are the working poor. Coming in greasy, muddy, smelling of sweat and sewer and cigarette smoke. Tough, burly guys. And yet, humbled in the moment. Many with tears running down their cheeks.
It wasn’t long until the table cloth ran out. But out in the shop yard, the entire City fleet sported a yellow ribbon flying in the breeze. And in several homes that evening, work-worn, knotty hands painstakingly tied on another one, and another.
In that spirit, I shall go to the banner store for a Union Jack to-morrow. I want a BIG one. I want to post it outside my home, I want it to wave and shimmer in the Mississippi heat.
Yes. To-morrow I shall fly the Union Jack.