A singular flag waves on a flagpole, the only one amongst a sea of houses. In my neighborhood filled with cheerful homeowners, their families, and warm welcoming grins, there is only one flag. And it’s not on my house.

I always wondered why this was—we all live in the United States. I thought we knew what it meant to be an American. However, I was wrong. Each one of us goes about our lives. Sleeping, eating, working and repeating. If only we could take time to listen. Listen to what a waving red, white, and blue flag means. 

If we took time to listen, and to watch, we could see what it means. We would hear a drumming of snares, as the people march into the Civil War to defend the rights of Americans. 

We would see the crying of a mother as two soldiers broken-heartedly tell her the news that her son isn’t coming home.

We would hear the words of Martin Luther King, dreaming of a day where “all men are created equal.” 

We would see the flicker of sparklers as kids danced in the fire light of Independence Day.

We would hear the rioters, fighting for justice for a man named George.

We would see empty schools, kids at home behind a screen wondering when a pandemic that took their lives away would end. 

You see, the flag stands for the people of America. People who fight for what they believe in. People who stand up for justice. People who love their country and those who inhabit it. People who love. The flag stands for the people.

I hear them now. The people. Through the stories on the news, to the people in my neighborhood, and all that have come before. They live on in the stars and stripes of our flag. 

So on a sweet-smelling summer day of 2022, my dad hung a flag from our house. Saying to the people of America, people who love, telling them they aren’t alone. Because our flag stands for them. For us. We the people.