RACE

Living with Flagaphobia

After September 11th, we started flying the American flag outside our home. Not anymore.

The trifecta: American, Trump, and Confederate flags on display in Surf City, NC. Source: The Author

When we moved from New Jersey to North Carolina in 2012, my wife and I knew our family of four was in for a cultural shock. Since we both were raised in Arkansas, we were no strangers to the South. I grew up during the last gasps of Jim Crow; my wife was raised in a town where Blacks and whites lived on opposite sides of the railroad tracks.

A “Good Guy with a Gun” shopping with the family at the local Walmart

Both of our children were born in Hoboken, New Jersey, however. Their early years were spent playing in a neighborhood filled with children from around the world. Before our move, neither of them had ever seen a Confederate flag, let alone a civilian strolling around in public with a Glock strapped to their belt. Suffice it to say that we knew their lives were about to change significantly.

We eventually settled in an island community a stone’s throw from the ocean. The quality of life more than makes up for the area’s homogeneity. If not for an occasional hurricane, where we live is like living in paradise. Paradise, that is, except for all the flags.