The National Anthem: Not for the Faint of Heart

I am always amazed when I hear that some classrooms in this great country do not recite the Pledge of Allegiance.  I cannot imagine what teachers are thinking.  It takes three minutes and teaches civic pride.  It is as American as hotdogs with mustard at baseball games.

The heart of the Magic Tree House pumps red, white, and blue blood.  Our favorite number is fifty and our synapses are powered by sparklers.  We ARE the future of America and we stand proudly at her side.

So Mrs. Dahl, being the patriotic quasi-hippie that she is, felt that the daily pledge to Old Glory was possibly underestimating the potential of The Darlings.  Dare I try, I wondered…? How can a small towner be a full participant in any sporting event unless they can whip off the old grain elevator cap and at least mouth the words to the National Anthem?  I owe it to these kids to be able to hold their heads high when the school band wheezes out the first notes of “Oh, say…”

Or maybe I am old enough to remember when national pride was common place and I am just a little sickened when kids who are Superglued to their iPhones and and addicted to their designer coffees are apologetic about the prosperity of the land of their birth.  I think a month in a third world country ought to be a mandatory part of high school these days.  But hey, that’s just me.  What do I know?

I began my little patriotic ritual about February of last year.  I cannot remember why.  I only remember that I was shocked at how quickly it was learned by last year’s crop of Darlings.  Beginning this school year with the Pledge followed immediately with the National Anthem was never in question.  For decades to come, I envision past students at various stages of growing up coming up to me and commenting that they learned the National Anthem in first grade.  It will be my contribution to a strong national backbone. 

It is a lofty goal, but here is the challenge, (and maybe you haven’t noticed this), but our national anthem is a terrible song.  At least from a musical perspective, that is.  Oh shucks.  Let’s just get real here for a moment.  It is a terrible song all the way around.  The words are archaic.  “ ‘Ore the ramparts we hailed?”  Yeah, that comes up in casual conversation at the local Applebees.  Why can’t we have something timeless like, God Save the Queen?  The British have it all over us in the national song war. 

Not only are the lyrics indecipherable to most adults, but the musical score is, well… just watch most televised sporting events.  Professional teams hire the best of the best singers to warble out this song at the start of each game.  Rarely is it done in a breathtaking fashion by those who make a living at such things.  For the average American?? Might as well just gargle with bumble bees and call it good.  It is nearly impossible.

But Mrs. Dahl is determined to prevail.  Mrs. Dahl is not a gifted singer, mind you.  Mrs. Dahl can carry a passable tune and even find the alto part occasionally.  But Mrs. Dahl is not anything close to a pleasure-to-listen-to singer.  But sing, Mrs. Dahl shall do, regardless.

And so, if you happen to be ascending or descending the ancient stairs on my wing of the building at about 8:25 a.m., you just might catch the wafting sounds of eight boisterous first graders and a middle-aged creaking garden gate belting The Star-Spangled Banner.  Little hands pressed over budding patriot hearts and eyes fixed on our flag, we sing like there is no tomorrow.  Our favorite part (apparently) comes at, “…whatso purrOOUUUdly we helled, at the qwilights last leeming… ”  This line seems to get special attention each and every morning.  I am not exactly sure why.  We sing it louder and with more fervor than the rest of the song.  It must set our quavering American hearts to full-blast pumping.  We then fade into the stratosphere when we hit the death-zone notes on “and the rockets red glare…”  Francis Scott Key must have had just a bit of wicked whimsy in him to force that nonsense on hundreds of years of national history.  He probably got dared into including it or something.

When we are finished and the last note hangs somberly in the air, I must daily resist the urge to shout, “Play ball!”  I do (resist that is), but it is hard.  When they will finish the song in the future as men and women with families and bills to pay, the ending of the song will signal the return of the seed company cap to balding heads and folks will sit down on hard wooden bleachers, as the locals have done before them for generations.  Then games will begin, and popcorn will be purchased, neighbors will catch up on the local gossip, and boys and girls will flirt with one another, ensuring that families will continue to inhabit the town and games will continue to be played.  It is a good system.  Everyone is happy.

So if you happen to hear Mrs. Dahl screeching out our national anthem with a classroom of six-year-olds like backup singers for the Temptations, please don’t be too hard on us.  We are not professionals, only dedicated patriots trying to learn a really stinky song rich with meaning and historical import.  We love our flag and what she represents.  We will sing it every morning for the duration of first grade.  And we will hold our heads high when we can sing it (mostly) right wherever and whenever it is sung or played.  We are Americans and we are proud.  God bless America and God Save the Queen.

Play ball!!