Let me see if I get this

right: It is legally possible and permissible to burn the

United States flag as a constitutionally protected right

of free speech BUT, in Fayetteville, Ga., it may soon be

illegal to display too many American flags in public.

Here's the situation, as I

understand it. Somewhere, someone, somehow, came up with

the idea that displaying too many American flags,

especially by a business, and especially in Fayetteville,

is somehow ... un-American. Or, if not un-American, then

just downright unsightly.

In a few days, the City

Council will deal with a proposal that would restrict the

displaying of flags to a maximum of two: one American

flag and one other flag, presumably a state flag (hmmm...

is it the flag with or without the Confederate battle

symbol?).

When I was a small child,

my parents would take me to the annual Independence Day

parade that wound its way down Broad Street and East

Center Street in Kingsport, Tenn. There one could see the

Shriner's in their "funny cars," the high

school bands playing with gusto, the multitudes of horses

and people dressed as cowboys, and the assorted

sprinkling of local beauty queens and politicians riding

in open air automobiles and waving to the crowds.

But what I remember most

are the flags. Scores of American flags. In truth,

probably hundreds of American flags proudly carried by

color guards, scout groups, and veterans organizations,

added to the thousands of miniature flags waved by nearly

everyone along the parade route. The Independence Day

parade was an explosion of red, white, and blue. I didn't

understand it all, but it somehow made me feel all tingly

and a part of a great wonderful "something."

On the first day of the

first grade at Dickson Elementary School, the teacher had

us all stand, face a red, white and blue banner, place

our hands over our heart and recite, "I pledge

allegiance to the flag..." The ritual was repeated

day after day year after year for as long as I attended

Dickson School.

In junior high and then in

high school, our teams would run out onto the gridiron on

Friday nights, and just before the commencement of the

game, would remove our helmets, come to perfect

stillness, and, following a brief prayer - which was

legal in those days - turn to face the flag.

As the flag was raised or

presented by the color guard, the band would play and the

5,000 or so assembled would sing, "O, say can you

see..." Those earlier tingles from the parades would

return as the crowd bellowed out, "...that our flag

was still there!"

Before I knew it, it was

0530 in the morning at Fort Lee, Va. In freezing rain or

sweltering shine, a few dozen of my fellow Marines would

assemble with hundreds of soldiers, stand at attention,

and salute as the flag of the United States was raised to

the playing of the national anthem.

There was a war going on in

Southeast Asia. Many of us had friends over there and

some in the formation had either been or would soon go.

The flag reminded us that American men would die today.

The least we could do was to display and salute the flag

they would fight under and perish defending.

I thought of Joe Meade and

Jimmy Johnson, schoolmates and friends, who had died in

Vietnam. I thought of Lonnie Bailey, my next-door

neighbor, who had been terribly wounded in a vicious and

violent fire fight in some nightmare rice paddy. I

saluted them as I saluted the flag.

Later, I would serve on

honor guards and help fold these same flags as they were

presented to the survivors of gallant young men who died

in combat. I watched helplessly as grief-stricken widows

in their early twenties clutched the flag to their

breasts and sobbed their anguished tears into it as their

soldier, or sailor, or airman, or marine was solemnly

lowered into the cold, unforgiving earth. I choked back

tears of my own as small, uncomprehending children

touched the colorful cloth being stained by their

mother's sorrow.

When the Gulf War began

many years later, I displayed a flag on my front porch. I

vowed that I would not take it down, no matter what,

until the war was over and the men and women were home. I

kept that vow.

Although, I generally don't

believe in displaying flags during services of worship, I

had a flag brought into the sanctuary during the Gulf

War. It served as a constant reminder that some from our

own church were in harm's way and it called us to fervent

prayer for their safety. We left it up for the longest

time, even after the young men safely returned to their

lives and families.

I love Memorial Day and

Veteran's Day, when flags are flown from homes and

business, and even cars. I display the flag on those days

and, along with the Marine Corps flag, on Nov. 10, the

birthday of the Corps. I display it on May 15, too, as I

remember the fallen police officers who have died in the

line of duty defending the nation against domestic

enemies.

So, I have no sympathy for

those who want to take the flags down for whatever might

be their reason. If burning a flag is a form of

constitutionally protected free speech, surely the

display of the flag ... as many as desired ... is also.

I understand that many

members of the City Council of Fayetteville are Vietnam

veterans. I have great confidence that they will do the

right thing and dispense with this proposal quickly and

permanently. They owe it to their comrades who died in

the cause of freedom. To do otherwise is just ... well

... un-American.

[David Epps

is rector of Christ the King Church in Peachtree City. He

may be contacted online at [email protected] or at

www.ChristTheKingCEC.com.]