I play the ukulele. This time of year the patriotic songs come out. Most of them are marches – It’s a Grand Old Flag, Yankee Doodle. The ukulele is not meant to play marches. Bring your trumpet and your drum if you want to march down the street with a flag because a uke won’t do the job.
Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “patriotic” or on some topic suggested by the image.
First 50 Words - Prompts for Writing Practice 
The skirl of the pipes, roll of the drums, sing to us, seep into the blood, stirring centuries-old energy. Feeling, knowing, believing where you belong. Almost tangible, very present. Your mind conjures luscious green hills, sweeps upwards to powerful dark grey mountains. You feel a strong sense of safety.
The United States is currently in a convulsed state. Lack of leadership is more prevalent than ever, but the patriotic spirit of the American people is always brought forth on the festivities of the fourth of July holiday. it’s a reminder that we musn’t take freedom for granted.
The ukulele remained in his suade covered rocking chair, day after day, month after month, year after year. She couldn’t find the strength to go near it, much less move it. It belonged to her late husband, Peter Gibons, one of the thousands killed in the Twin Tower Tragedy.
Tears streamed down the old man’s face as the national colors passed by. In his mind’s eye he could hear the gunfire, he could feel the oppressive jungle heat, he could see the dead and wounded all around him. These men came from half a world away to fight for HIS freedom and protect his family. Tran Ngoc Nguyen was proud to now call himself a patriotic American.
It takes more
than flying flags
wearing USA shirts,
red white & blue hats
bumper stickers
that say Love It
or Leave It.
It takes more
than posting about vets,
crocodile tears, flag-colored,
closing borders.
To be patriotic
takes more than words,
clothes, flags, posts & stickers.
It takes more than hate
division, exclusion.
Being patriotic
means being there
to serve, to help, to work,
to listen, respect, understand
that these truths we hold to be self-evident
are meant for all, not just for the few
that shout the loudest,
threaten the most,
fear anything
and anyone
not like them.
“Patriotism”, No sahib , I don’t know what that means .”
I ask around , mike in hand , feeling very foolish . The Hindi translation too , doesn’t seem to make any sense .
But I am asking the home makers , slaving away every breath . Cooking , cleaning , wiping runny noses , laying out the roof , threshing , winnowing , bringing the crop in .
There is a group of village elders , sitting on a charpoy , smoking the hookah , surrounded by a group of village louts . Quite uncharacteristically , the louts slink away at my approach . The elders give me the silent treatment , become shifty eyed , and look away . Someone clears his throat noisily , but still doesn’t answer me .
I get my answer later that day when I enter some of the huts . There , framed prominently , on the mud wall , is the photograph of a soldier , a garland hanging desultorily, vermillion tilak on the glass , and a soot emitting solitary ghee lamp burning underneath. Making the dimly lit interiors, gloomier .
Almost every house has their resident martyr . This village has given its best sons to the nation , what was I thinking ?