I remember repeating the pledge of allegiance with a cupped hand over my heart, looking up at the stripey, starry flag. I took the ritual seriously, as if Kennedy and Nixon were depending on me to do my patriotic best.

 

Did I know what I was pledging? Maybe a little. I sang the Star Spangled Banner and the Battle Hymn of the Republic with gusto, and grew to love the latter so much I dreamed of using it as the processional in my wedding. I pictured my sweeping train as I marched up the aisle to "Glory, glory Hallelujah!"

 

No doubt there are more than a few cynical seventh grade boys who spit out the pledge as sarcastically as possible. But the message still gets sent... that the flag and this country are worthy of respect regardless of our willingness to offer it. 

 

Last week I went to an event where I was introduced to a bevy of new people. The words "Nice to meet you!" flicked off my tongue easily. I do not really know if there were any terrorists among them, and I should have done a background check before casually offering such congenial words. But the phrase was a warm beginning, a reminder that each person is a chance to broaden my experience of life on this planet. I recall the first time I smiled at people who later became precious parts of my world, like my husband, or the woman I taught preschool with, or the neighbor who brought us raspberries when we moved in. Sometimes rote words are a good launching pad. I said "Nice to meet you!" as a wish for the future more than a report of what had already come to pass. 

 

My brother and his wife repeat something on the first day of every month: their wedding vows. Many of those 276 renewals came easily, with a flood of feeling. Other times the words felt empty, or annoying. But they hold hands and keep saying it.