Years ago, I had a conversation I had with a fellow reporter and his political, cultural and social views were 100 percent opposed to mine.

If I said “blue state,” he said “red state.” If I said “conservative,” he said “liberal.” Most of the time, I didn’t think twice about his views, until he said he believed in burning the American flag.

That one shocked me, and I had to stop and think about that statement for a long time.

I came to the conclusion that I didn’t want to see any flag burned or desecrated but, in the United States, I would uphold his right to express his views as long as no one was hurt or killed in the protest.

And that’s where I find myself as I read blogs, Tweets and online postings about NFL players taking a knee during the National Anthem. This started last year when NFL athlete Colin Kaepernick refused to stand for the anthem.

Kaepernick said he was not going to “show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color.” So instead of standing, he knelt during the anthem and faced a tidal wave of protests as well as people siding with him.

When I first saw him kneeling instead of standing, I was furious. Not because he was protesting but because of the respect I have for the many veterans I’ve talked to over the years.

I remember interviewing the late Charlie Kalkomey about his service. He didn’t agree to the interview because he wanted glory or recognition. He agreed because I asked and I think he wanted people to understand what so many veterans endured. During the interview, he quietly told me why he limped. It was because he was trapped on an enemy island during World War II and, while wounded, had to crawl through gunfire just to make it to safety.

I can still remember sitting in his office, feeling sick to my stomach for what he’d gone through. For the rest of his life, Mr. Kalkomey lived with that limp but never whined or blamed anyone for his war injuries. They were the result of his having performed his duty to his country.

I remember interviewing a Vietnam veteran who sobbed through the first part of our interview. He hadn’t talked about his service for over 40 years, and seeing pictures of himself at the age of 18 in the jungles of Viet Nam brought the knowledge of the youth he’d lost. No one knew the internal sadness and loss of innocence this veteran carried with him every single day. But he didn’t regret serving his country. He regretted that so many people didn’t give Vietnam vets the respect they deserved.

I remember the late Arthur Mahlmann and Frank Briscoe talking about hunkering down in foxholes in Europe while artillery exploded over their heads. They endured freezing winters and nightly terrors of not knowing whether or not they’d live another day.

I thought I was interviewing them because of their generosity to this community over their lifetimes. I found out they’d given much more than money and time – they gave their youth.

The World War II nurses I interviewed in Greatwood all had Purple Hearts and all had tended the wounds of soldiers in the battlefield, held the hands of bleeding service men and listened to the final prayers of those who’d been mortally wounded.

These women came home, put their medals in the closet and went about rearing their families, never asking for recognition or thanks.

So when I hear the national anthem played, I stand for the veterans and the people and way of life they believed were worth fighting for. It’s my way of thanking them for putting their lives on the line every day of their service.

So while I understand one’s taking the knee during the national anthem and have to grudgingly say America allows that freedom, there is no way I would not stand.

The reason is simple.

So many stood for what was right and so many died so we could continue fighting for justice, whether it was in a foxhole in Europe, a jungle in Vietnam or the attitudes of prejudiced people.

They fought so we can disagree, protest and demand change.

They fought for you.

They fought for me.

They fought for America.

I understand your decision to kneel.

Understand mine to stand.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

Next week, my mom will be celebrating a milestone birthday – 85. I remember the days when she was 39 for about 15 years, but now that she’s in her 80s, our family doesn’t miss an opportunity to celebrate another year with our mother.

Her daily schedule is ambitious. In the morning over coffee and cereal, she finishes the newspaper’s daily crossword puzzle. Except on Sundays. She said that one’s too hard.

She does all her own shopping and housework and is always making soup or dinner for someone who’s under the weather.

Once a week, she volunteers in the gift shop at Lane Memorial Hospital. She loves greeting the customers and helping them find gifts for loved ones. She’s the first to take someone else’s shift if they’re ill or going out of town, and that’s in addition to her regular hours.

One day a week, she enjoys “lunch with the ladies.” There’s quite a few older women in the complex where she lives, and a group goes out to eat on Fridays. Over soul food, egg-drop soup or fried fish, they catch up on what’s going on in the neighborhood, talk politics and discuss their great-grandchildren.

After lunch, Mom often plays cards with another group of ladies and then it’s home in time to watch the soap opera she’s watched for over 20 years, “The Young and The Restless.”

On Monday nights, she fixes a complete dinner for my brothers and their wives. The main reason they visit is because they genuinely enjoy Mom’s company. But Mom knows having dinner together is her sons’ secretive way of checking on her, seeing if anything needs repairing around the house and making sure she’s taking her medications.

She manages her own checking account, pays her own bills, loves surfing the Internet, playing “Cookie Jam” and reading Facebook posts.

She remembers the birthdays of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren and always sends a card and a few dollars to the little ones. In turn, they all know who she is and, from time to time, have all spent time on her lap.

As I write this, she’s in the hospital, recovering from a small blood clot in her leg. She’s furious because we’ve got a huge party planned for her next week, and she is fuming in that hospital bed because she has things to do to get ready. Although all her children are grown with families of their own, she’s still the boss and is making sure we’re doing what supposed to be done for the party.

First, and most important question – what are we eating?

I told her our in-town brothers and sisters-in-law have caterers lined up and that we all have a list of what we’re supposed to supply for the party.

“What about entertaining the out-of-town guests?” she asked.

Triumphantly, I said her sons had already thought of that – they’ve arranged visits to the Baton Rouge casinos and lunches at Cajun restaurants. Rides are arranged for transportation to and from airports and everybody has a place to stay.

“You raised us right,” we told her, and, with that answer, she was satisfied to do everything the doctors are asking because she wants to be up and ready to see family.

We know the promise of seeing her loved ones is the best medicine in the world for our mom, and she said she’s leaving that hospital in plenty of time to get ready for her party, even if she has to drag that pole and drip along behind her.

I pity anybody who stands in the way of this 4’11” Lebanese matriarch.

We know we’re extremely blessed to still have our mom with us in good health and of sound mind. So we’re rolling out the red carpet for her 85^th birthday and celebrating Dee Hebert with food, laughter and, most of all, love.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

 

 

I heard the giggling before I saw what triggered the laughter. The happiness came from the dozen or so children sitting in a circle with Gene and Doris Tomas as they sorted a mountain of mismatched socks for Lamar CISD’s food and clothing pantry, Common Threads.

Doris and Gene were some of the hundreds of volunteers who came to Common Threads in the days after Hurricane Harvey to donate their time to help those affected by the storm.

Attack Poverty and Friends of North Richmond helped out some of the hardest hit homes in our community, and the work isn’t finished yet. Churches have organized work crews that are working seven days a week to help residents already struggling financially.

These organizations don’t just pop up when there’s a tragedy. They’re helping the neediest year round, from making sure children have shoes and school uniforms to providing diapers and formula to young parents.

Social media played a huge role in getting helpers to donation sites. Armies of volunteers would search on Twitter or Facebook to find a neighborhood or family in need and then arrive to do whatever they could to help. Groups formed online pages where people can search for places to volunteer and help out.

At Common Threads, parents with their children, teachers, businessmen and women, teens, athletes, coaches, retirees all came and found a way to give back. Every day, coaches and young athletes unloaded donations, delivered supplies to area hotels where displaced families were staying and volunteered for any job that needed to get done.

Firefighters and EMS personnel were busy 24/7. Businesses and churches donated hot food, water, supplies and money to relief funds. Most fanned out into the community to muck out houses, remove sheetrock and salvage as much as possible. Many of our business owners provided food for volunteer workers, even when their livelihoods were suffering.

For hours, people worked behind the scenes, making sure the power stayed on, the Internet lines kept us connected and supplies were delivered as soon as the roads were passable.

People not only donated food and clothing, but they donated their talents. Barbers and hair technicians cut hair at police stations and recovery sites, putting a bit of normalcy back into people’s lives. People with boats went from house to house during the worst part of the flood. Four-wheelers and ATVs drove through drenched neighborhoods, retrieving people who couldn’t navigate flooded streets.

Simonton and Valley Lodge were hard hit and over a dozen trucks were lined up near the entrance as volunteers fanned out and helped at homes for people they’d never met before. We were at a house in Simonton and the homeowners were removing ruined furniture and carpet. Two state troopers, one from another county, stopped and offered to help along with the young National Guardsmen riding with them. They quickly picked up the ruined living room furniture and deposited it at the curb, much to the relief of the exhausted homeowners.

So often, law enforcement personnel are criticized but, during the flood, they were pitching in to help wherever they were needed. House after house. Family after family. Neighborhood after neighborhood.

Those who weren’t flooded cleaned out closets and pantries to donate what they could. Young moms and retirees took in laundry, and bilingual folks helped displaced people get through the overwhelming mountain of paperwork required for financial aid.

This area was slammed by one of the worst hurricanes to ever make landfall. people worked together to make a positive difference in the midst of tragedy. It’s humbling and uplifting to watch prejudices disappear. White, Black, Asian, young, old, rich, poor – none of that mattered as volunteers all over southeast Texas stocked shelves, sorted clothing, gathered supplies and then delivered them with a smile to those in need.

No complaining. No racial barriers. Just people helping people. Volunteering brings out the best in people, the best they didn’t even know they had in their hearts.

The road ahead is long, so please continue giving and helping where needed. If you weren’t able to help out during the initial flood, don’t worry. Organizations are going to need volunteers for months, so please consider adding your name and muscle to the list. If you’re willing to give of your time and effort, there’s a place for you. Most of all, Fort Bend County, thank you for your incredible generosity, your gusty optimism and your willingness to start over, bigger and better than ever.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.