Hearing the National Anthem

I spent my junior year of college in Scotland, at the University of Saint Andrews. (Yes, Prince William, Duchess Katherine, and I are fellow alums.) In those years, we didn't have the luxury of the internet, cell phones, Skype, Facebook, and so forth. I made exactly two phone calls back to my parents during the entire year. It was quite an involved process, requiring me to book a time for the call with the overseas operator and then to wait patiently in the call box (phone booth) at the appointed time until the call was put through. I always felt rather like I was Lindbergh crossing the Atlantic.

Suffice it to say that when we were overseas in Europe, we were far away and quite cut off from home.

In those days, the United States was not any better loved abroad than today. We were still trying to disengage from Vietnam, and the Cold War was still in full force. The Watergate scandal dominated news from home. I remember well that we never walked around wearing any clothing that sported USA or the Stars and Stripes or anything that identified us with the US. With our new friends in Scotland, we were comfortable talking about our differences, but it just seemed prudent when out in large public places not to draw attention to ourselves.

It was a time of terrorism, too, but this came from the IRA, not IS. For example, at Christmas, the day after my sister and I had visited the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey, the IRA detonated a bomb in that exact area. Too close for comfort.

I felt indeed like a stranger in a strange land. But the year passed wonderfully, and I enjoyed submerging myself in Scottish and English culture and later in the adventures of travel on the Continent. Home, nevertheless, remained very far away.

One time, though, I received a surprise that made me stand up straight and brought unexpected tears to my eyes. I can't, unfortunately, remember the exact place or reason for this after so many years. I do remember what I felt. I was in London, I think, somewhere that a public ceremony was occurring. It must have been a joint British-American moment, featuring a military band, because suddenly I heard the opening notes of "The Star-Spangled Banner".

I have played that song dozens and dozens of times in marching band, I learned all the verses in my 7th grade history class, and I have never reacted so viscerally as at that moment. I stopped in my tracks, and stood still. If I had been wearing a hat, I would have removed it! Every note resonated around me. As the anthem drew to a close (the "Oh say does that star-spangled banner yet wave" part), tears welled up in my eyes. My goodness, I was proud of my country and proud to hear our anthem and not ashamed to show it.

In the intervening years, I've sung the national anthem repeatedly at Cubs games in Chicago without succumbing to a weepy patriotism. Generally I can be trusted not to over-react to "The Star-Spangled Banner"! Yet I had one memorable experience even there. One Fourth of July I was at Wrigley and before the game four Medal of Honor winners from World War II were honored. After they were introduced and we cheered for them, they stood at attention at home plate while we sang the national anthem. As I looked at these heroes and sang that song, once again I felt the tears well up. Because of their sacrifices and the sacrifices of their comrades, I was free to stand and sing our anthem without fear.

I know that we sing the anthem at so many sporting events, and I hear it butchered so frequently (but that's another topic!!), and I observe folks starting to whoop and cheer before the final words are sung. Yet there is a power in that music when heard in a foreign land after many months away, or when in the presence of those who have risked their lives for what that music represents. It's never routine for me.

Happy Fourth of July!