Pledge
Everyday morning at exactly 7:45 all of us kids in the Miss Carter’s second grade class would stand up and pledge our allegiance to a flag and a country. It was our morning ritual, one class, indivisible, each day reaffirming our belief in a great nation. Each of us took turns leading the class, but it was Timmy who really took pride in leading us. He would stand up there place his hand over his heart and wait for everyone to settle, then lead us. Maybe he loved his country, or maybe he loved being in the spot light, being a leader.
It is years later and I haven’t seen anyone from that class since graduation. After I finished grade school, my folks moved to another part of town, and I went to a different middle school than the rest. It wasn’t until high school that I was reunited with the group. Even though it was only a couple of years, I was already an outsider. I didn’t yet fit in with my middle school classmates, and was no longer welcome with the old gang.
I wished that I could just walk up to my old friends and ask them to let me in. Tell them about all we had shared, and how I wasn’t really different even though I live up north now. Early in the fall semester of my freshman year, I tried to make an attempt. “Hey, Timmy, it’s me from grade school,” I started, but was interrupted by “The name is Tim.” Apparently a lot had changed in my time away. Timmy was now a Tim, and I wasn’t welcome.
Just today, I read that Tim had died over the weekend. No explanation of the circumstances, just an obituary stating the facts of his life, leaving behind a wife and a son. I don’t know why, but I will always remember him leading us second graders in a pledge.
