There are some people one street over with a flagpole in their yard. When the war on terror began, they put the flag at half-mast.

I drive past their house very often, and at first I thought that was quaint. The flag was quaint, having it at half-mast for wartime, that was quaint. The little kids playing catch under it, so quaint. I wondered what the kids thought of that, the flag being so much closer than usual. I wondered what their parents had told them about the reasons for it. I wondered if they had brothers or uncles in the service. That was back in the day, you know. That was 2001.

Several years later, when the flag remained at half-mast and the children were no longer playing catch under it, I wondered if they were in the service. That, too, was back in the day. Eventually, everything is part of the past. That was 2008, a lifetime ago.

It’s  2014 today, and it’s gone now, that flag. It wore out. They took it down well over a year ago, and they didn’t replace it. What does it say, when you’re that proud of your country to keep a flag up at half-mast until it wears completely out? What does it say when you don’t bother replacing it? Did the war outlive their patriotism? Did the war outlive their family? The children I saw playing under it then, they’d be grown men now, gone. Maybe gone forever, right? A lot of men and women are. The war may be “over” but I don’t think it is. I don’t think any war is ever really over. Maybe that’s why they didn’t bother with the flag. It would only have had to be replaced again. When the grandkids were serving, maybe. Or the great grandkids.

Some things, you know. They don’t make them like they used to.