Forget What You Think You Know About Patriotism

It’s not a flag waving in the breeze. Or a salute or a pledge or a song. Or, it doesn’t have to be. 

And maybe it’s better if it isn’t. 

C.S. Lewis called it Storge. The love of country, home, neighborhood or quiet corner. Like the two-top by the window at the busy coffee shop where I write this from. The love of familiar sounds, smells, tastes and feelings. 

Forget what you think you know about patriotism. 

So you can remember the hum of the fan after your first summer sunburn in your childhood bedroom.

So you can feel the worn cotton of your grandfather’s old New Orleans Saint’s sweatshirt. 

So you can taste the hot dog at the ballpark. 

So you can move your body to the iconic sounds of the Louisiana musicians playing at the annual Rice Festival.  

So you can smell the rain on the hot suburban sidewalk.

The slam of your grandmother's screen door… 

The crack of the cannon from the McNeese football field on a Saturday night… 

The prompt hoo-hoo from the backyard owl…

The rainbow you jump through when the hose hits the trampoline just right… 

The moment the first sip of a frozen café au lait hits your tongue after a long flight…home. 

Home. 

Where you stop marching, 

unlace your boots and 

put your bare feet in the grass.