Heavens to Betsy

When I was three years old, my father was serving in Vietnam, and my mother and I lived with my grandmother in Vernon, Alabama. I was allowed to watch “Captain Kangaroo,” and it was from that program I learned to say the Pledge of Allegiance.

In this small town, my grandmother's house was not far from the post office where I got to test my skills on a real flag. Whenever my mother and I made that trip, I would climb up on the railing of the post office steps, place my little hand over my heart, and proudly recite the pledge from memory. Apparently, it was a cute sight, and it made my mother very proud.

That was sixty years ago. These days I still find myself enamored with our flag.

It’s a custom on our lake to put a flag out to show you’re in camp. When we got a new dock, I convinced my husband to rig one up. He came back from the hardware store with all the supplies and a brand-new flag kit. Unfortunately, the “Old Glory” he presented me with was printed, not sewn. I did not hide my disappointment well. When he asked, “What is it?” I replied:

“My ancestors took part in the American Revolution and your great-grandmother was a Ross from Philadelphia. Those kinds of people fly sewn flags, not printed ones.”

If you’re picturing Dan rolling his eyes at me, I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong. He did not race back to town to get the flag of my dreams. However, this past Christmas I unwrapped a flat rectangular blue and red box. I knew what was inside, but if there were any doubts, the label, “Flying the Colors of Quality,” gave it away. Those embroidered stars are soon to replace the printed version just in time for our nation’s 250^th celebration.

Speaking of such a milestone reminds me, June 14, 2026, I helped host a special Flag Day celebration at the Isaac and Joanna Watson House in honor of our nation’s semiquincentennial (a word I can’t seem to say right and have to look up to spell). Built in 1708, Watson House is the oldest surviving home in Mercer County, New Jersey. For our Flag Day event, one of my friends dressed up as Betsy Ross and gave flags to all the visitors. Our other costumed character, a fully decorated Continental soldier told her, “You know, you didn’t really make the first flag.”

Apparently, Betsy’s grandson’s story of her seamstress skills being applied to the Stars and Stripes are widely questioned due to lack of documentation. Now I ask you, who is going to document the fact that they’re committing treason? I hopped to Betsy’s defense: “There were many women in Philadelphia sewing flags for the Continentals, and she was assuredly one of them. Why is it the contributions of women are always in question?”

He gave me sideways grin and agreed, “You’re right, you’re right.”

I’ve not planned another semiquincentennial (a word I copied and pasted from above) celebration since Flag Day. On this Saturday, July 4, 2026, I plan to celebrate quietly and humbly at the lake. By God’s grace I’ll fly my sewn flag, see an Eagle overhead, enjoy a campfire, and watch a spontaneous and perhaps not-so-legal fireworks show. I’ll reflect with gratitude over the stories lost and told from 250 years ago, and say a hopeful prayer that in another 250 children of this land might cherish the ideals of the flag I love so well, and inherit one nation under God, worthy of their pledge. May they leave it even better for those who follow.