This I Believe: Life Lessons by Dan Gediman, Mary Jo Gediman, John Gregory Read Free Book Online Page A

of helping and being helped. I believe that sometimes our vulnerability is our strength.
    Colin Bates is a resident service assistant for people with mental disabilities and a student at Pennsylvania State University. He’s finishing a degree in English and will pursue an MFA in creative writing. He lives in Bellefonte, Pennsylvania, with his cat, Cleo.

Patriotic Ponderings

    Joan Skiba
    As an army brat growing up in a military home, raised by military minds, I was receptive to all of the patriotic messages surrounding me. At a very early age, I recall memorizing a poem that always created a tremendous sense of pride as well as a healthy dose of goose bumps. A snippet of the poem is imprinted in my memory: “loyal hearts are beating high: / Hats off! / The flag is passing by!”
    There was no question. I was the embodiment of a patriot, albeit a very young one. I was proud to be an American and knew in my young heart that the families in the military were very special and especially patriotic. Then I grew up.
    I went to Ohio State in the sixties and saw firsthand the antiwar groups that frequented my college campus and dared to question my country’s values and actions in Vietnam. Their messages alarmed me. I was putting all of my energy into my nursing education and had no inclination to question my government or the war. I felt hostility toward these dissenters and had no desire to hear any of their ideas. My naive, uninformed self believed that anyone opposing my government should just leave the country.
    After graduation, I joined the Army Nurse Corps. I went to Vietnam and worked in an emergency room, tending to the casualties of the war. Within the first week I began to question my youthful paradigms. I looked into the eyes of a dying nineteen-year-old American and could not justify his death. I took care of a Vietcong soldier, tending to his wounds, knowing he would survive those wounds but ultimately lose his life to his captors. I cried as I plucked out pieces of small metal fragments from his body.
    I gradually began to understand that war is patriotism on opposing sides. The uniforms differentiate the dogma but don’t separate the grief. The uniforms define the combatants, but their losses are universal. The young American and Vietcong were patriots. Each loved, each defended, and each died for his country.
    This is when I came to believe that a patriotic person can question and disagree with the country she loves.
    I embrace my sense of belonging to this country, my love of this country, and the democratic values of this country. I staunchly endorse the patriotic right to question my country’s values and its actions. As an American, I can question. As an American, I have the right to oppose any of my government’s actions.
    I believe it is my responsibility as a patriotic person to be informed and to never stop questioning.
    And, yes, I still get goose bumps when watching our flag pass by.
    After more than twenty years in emergency medicine, Joan Skiba returned to school to become an elementary school teacher. Her goal every year is to impress upon her young students the importance of critical thinking and the value of knowing, not simply believing. Ms. Skiba says war taught her that.

Opening the Door of Mercy

    Karin Round
    One afternoon a couple of summers ago, just as the sky was darkening, a woman I didn’t know stood sagging on our threshold, holding the screen door open. I saw the silhouette of her head through the window.
    No, she answered me, she was not all right. She didn’t feel well at all. So, I wondered, what was I supposed to do now?
    This moment of decision had happened to me before. For almost nineteen years, we’ve lived here at the foot of a highway exit ramp. Our address is blandly suburban, but the highway often leads exhausted cars onto our curb. Lately cell phones have diminished the flow, but we’ve met many people in distress. More diverse than